


One Man's Trash

by Rainbowpui



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Anal, Attempted Sexual Assult, Blowjobs, Frottage, M/M, Pirate!Jack, Possessive Behavior, Rimming, Sexual Tension, Treasure Planet!AU, first times (kind of), half a virgin, improper kitchen sanitation standards, minor Jack/Nisha, straight up murder, two idiots fuck everything up for months on end but it all works out anyway
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-28
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2019-04-13 23:58:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14123667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rainbowpui/pseuds/Rainbowpui
Summary: All Rhys ever wanted was a chance to prove himself. But when the map to a legendary treasure finds it's way into his life, will he be able to meet the challenge?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> for the borderlands reverse bang challenge.  
> art by tumblr user jinetixart

     The metal hull of the derelict ship creaked and groaned like some great beast, loose paneling looming oppressively over Rhys’s head. Rhys kept one eye on it and another on his exit, the charge percentage of his solar surfer open in the corner of his echohub. He’d had to turn the power down low, hovering with a quiet hum and very little excess light. The extra shine might have helped him see in the dimness of the cavernous wreck, but he already had an echoeye for that, and well….

     It wasn’t exactly like he was supposed to be here. And he didn’t want to get caught.

     Again.

     Rhys took a deep breath, bracing his metal hand against the shuddering wall. He caught a  rubber glove between his teeth, pulling it on to his free hand and plunging it into the spilling mess of loose machinery and wires he had uncovered. His fingers found purchase on a ribbed cylinder, warm to the touch even under his thick glove. He could feel the low buzzing hum of it, the only thing still running in this heap, even months after the initial crash. It’d keep running too, on and on. Radon converters were built to last, plugged into the ship’s secondary life support in the initial build and insured for life. Which was probably why they cost more than four years salary at the Purple Skag combined.

     Rhys closed his fist around it, adjusted his weight on his wobbling surfer and  _ tugged. _

     The momentum sent him spinning backwards over his board as the piece came loose with a metallic shriek. The panel gave one last groaning cry as it pulled free, nearly cracking against Rhys’s skull as he struggled to right himself and turned his thrusters up to pull away. The piece clattered against the remaining hull on the way down into the inky blackness below, and Rhys winced against the sound. Maybe the patrols hadn’t heard that. Maybe they were at the other side of the compound…but probably not. Shoving his scavenged loot into his bag he kicked his solar surfer into gear.

     His sails shimmered as he crested the exit, charge building in the golden light of the midday sun. Rhys stopped his thrusters with a thought, folding his body forward as the sails snapped back. His own nose nearly touched the nose of the board as he held it vertically and let himself plummet. Rhys squinted his eyes against the stinging wind, grinning wide as the ground rushed up to meet him.

     His thrusters came alive again moments before he was due to hit the ground. Rhys righted his board. Over the roar of his jet from far up above him, Rhys could hear a familiar staticy voice give a wail.

_      “Halt! You are in a restricted area.”  _

     Rhy’s couldn't suppress his grin. His echoeye whirred as he sped around the jutting planes of fallen hull and detritus that littered the outside of the crash site, twirling and sundersaulting between them with delight. The wind whipped at his face, making him squint against the sting in his eyes. The patrol bots could be quick navigating the familiar territory. But he could be quicker. Rhys leaned forward, kicked his thrusters up a gear, and flew.

 \--------

     Rhys reached home with the setting sun. He let out a sigh of relief as the crooked sign of The Purple Skag Tavern and Inn came into view. Tired and satisfied, he crept in through the back door, hoping to slip to his bedroom workshop in the attic unnoticed.

     And walked directly into a sour faced Valory standing in the center of the kitchen. 

     Rhy’s froze, deer in headlights, as she crossed her arms, giving him a pointed looking over.

     “And where have you been all day?” Rhys shot her a nervous grin. “Slacking off and causing me trouble no doubt,” she snapped before he could give her a response.   

     “Hey! Today’s my day off!” He began to protest.

     Valory pointed at him with one bejeweled, claw-like finger, her red nail thrust close enough to his face that it made Rhys go crosseyed to look at it. “And what did you do with it? That Loaderbot of yours heard an alert for a stringy twerp on a surfer on the patrol scanner. And who do you think matches that description? I’ve got enough trouble as is running this place without having patrols bots coming to sniff around here because you couldn’t keep those sticky fingers of yours under control,” she rasped at him, emphasizing her point with a harsh jab to Rhys’s sternum. “Don’t forget its by a kindness that I’m letting you stay under my roof.” Rhys frowned, rubbing at the sore spot on his chest. 

     “How could I forget,” he grumbled. It was no secret Vallory had never been much fond of him on his own, despite all the times she had needed his technological savvy to scrub the identification data from the smuggled loot that would run through her basement. Or all the help the Loaderbot he had repaired with scavenged parts lent around the Inn. Rhys had been invited to live in the Purple Skag because Rhys had been running with Sasha and Fiona, and August had been sweet on Sasha.

     And child labor had been cheaper than paying for an actual workstaff. 

     But none of that meant that Vallory would ever see him as anything other than some spoiled brat whose offworlder parents hadn't had the decency to live long enough to look after him and who she had been so unfairly saddled with. Vallory gave him a disgruntled look, sneering down her nose at him. “At some point you’re going to have to grow up. Do you really think you can just get away with living like this forever?” Rhys kept his head down, and struggled to say nothing. Vallory scoffed, turning back to the bustle of the inn. Rhys let out a loud sigh as the doors closed behind her. He glanced around, noticing for the first time that the kitchen crew had stopped to watch them. They all snapped back to their work at once, pretending that they hadn’t been listening in on the whole exchange.  

     “What a bitch.” He groaned out, legs suddenly felt a lot heavier as he trudged his way up the stairs. 

 \--------

     Rhys dropped the radon converter on his workbench amongst his pile of half finished projects and blueprints, letting out a tired sigh. Loaderbot sat curled charging in the corner, the traitor. Rhys pouted at him. His one red eye blinked back unseeingly. Kicking off his boots, he let himself fall face first against his matress. Exhaustion clawed at him, but somehow Rhys couldn’t stop shifting with nervous energy. Vallory’s words echoed in his head. ‘Do you really think you can get away with living like this forever?’  

     No. Of course not. 

     Rhys rolled over onto his back, propping himself up on his metal arm. He rubbed at the aching juncture where metal met flesh as he rose and walked to the window, thinking about how much he’d like to upgrade it soon. Rhys pushed open the glass pane, crawling out onto the roof. The night air was cool, floating in on a gentle breeze, and above him shone a glittering expanse of stars. Rhys lay back against the roof to watch and think.

     It wasn't that he’d meant for things to go this way. Only finding honest work in Port Pandora wasn’t always the easiest. And he couldn’t afford the parts for the kind of projects that would finally get him the recognition that he deserved. He’d only ever needed an opportunity to prove himself, a chance to get off this rock. A little boost to set him on course for his destiny beyond all this.

     “Hey.” Rhys startled from his thoughts as Fiona climbed up out from her own window, crawling across the roof to sit beside him. She rubbed her neck awkwardly, claws scratching over her nape as she gave Rhys a sympathetic look. “So Sasha overheard your conversation with Vallory. She told me what happened.” Rhy’s face pinched together in a frown. 

     “Oh.” He looked away from her. “I should have guessed she could hear us all the way from the bar. You felines and your big stupid ears,” he muttered, aiming a flick at one of hers as she flinches away and swatted at his hand. Fiona gave his side a friendly nudge with her elbow.

     “Hey come on, you know you can’t take anything Vallory says to heart. What does she know? Seriously, like she has room to talk. She’s probably funded half her wardrobe from upselling the extra scavenge you trade her.” Rhys laughed at that, thinking of all the stuff he’d had to unload on her saving up for his first solar surfer. He’d been 12 and naïve. Vallory had totally fleeced him. Not that Rhys had had any other options at the time. 

     “That's true I guess.” Fiona gave him a grin.

     “And anyway, we all know the real sacrifice we all make living with you is having to look at your atrocious fashion choices. Hey Rhys? Maybe you’d be able to afford to move out of here if you didn’t spend all your money on silky shirts.” Rhys laughed, giving her a shove.

     “Hey! My shirts are awesome. And you’re one to talk with how much I know you spend on dumb jackets.” Despite himself, Rhys found he couldn’t stay upset with Fiona grinning at him.

     They’d come a long way from all the fights they’d had as kids. Rhys even thought they made a pretty solid team when they stopped being stubborn for long enough to work together. 

     “Don’t worry. You may be an idiot, but you’re a resourceful idiot. It’ll all work out.” Rhys shook his head.

     “I sure hope so.” 

     They sat together in companionable silence for a while, watching the stars. Until a flicker of light moved into his peripheral vision. A shooting star? Rhys turned to watch it move across the horizon, holding his breath and wishing hard. Except…

     Rhys squinted out at the shape, his echo eye picking up on what his natural eye couldn't. Locking onto the flashing object’s trajectory, his echo eye began to zoom. 

     Rhys sat up straight with a gasp. “Fiona look!” He pointed at the speeding object drawing ever closer. Now the smoke was obvious, the irregular jut of the ship’s snapped sails. That was no shooting star. 

     Fiona snapped upright as the ship crashed against the earth with a far off boom, the shockwave nearly making Rhys slip as he scrambled to the edge of the rooftop. He could see the plume of green smoke that puffed up, a sure sign that ship’s gravitational matrix had blown. 

     “Fiona we have to go check it out!”

     Fiona’s face twisted in confusion, “What? Are you crazy?” she called out, just as Sasha’s bedraggled head stuck out from their window. 

     “Fi, what was that noise?” Rhys’s head whipped around to face her. 

     “Sasha! Go to town to tell somebody, quick! There’s been a crash!” He turned back to where Fiona watched him with wide eyes, pulling her up onto her feet. “Come on, we have to go see if anyone’s hurt.” God knows Vallory wouldn’t go looking, she’d never deem it worth the trouble. Sasha woke up quickly at that, peering out at the rising smoke on the horizon. She nodded.

     “Right,” Fiona said with an unsteady nod of her own, following after Rhys as he shimmied back down into his room to reach for his solar surfer. The Inn was already starting to stir as they bolted down the stairs, tired patrons wandering out into the hall to chatter about the noise. Fiona’s ears twitched as she listened for the familiar sound of Vallory’s stomping footsteps as she ventured out to console her guests, grabbing Rhys by the elbow and dragging him out of their employer’s line of sight. 

     They climbed onto the surfer almost as soon as they hit the lawn, thrusters roaring to life and forcing Fiona to grab tight to Rhy’s middle as they braced against the drag. Rhys’s echo eye had tracked the crash to just beyond the green hills on whose base the Purple Skag sat. With the smell of smoke carrying on the night breeze, it was the longest ride of Rhys’s life.

     Rhys stiffened as the crash site came into view. He’d thought he’d been prepared for it, after all the crash sites he had picked apart over the years.

     Of course none of those had been fresh. He felt more than heard Fiona’s sudden intake of breath as they slowed to a crawl approaching the wreckage.

     And the bisected corpse of one of the sailors who’d been tossed from it. Rhys shuddered and held firm against the rising urge to vomit. 

     “God that’s awful,” Fiona groaned against his ear, sounding pretty close to hurling herself. Carefully, they pulled to a halt, stepping off the solar surfer to survey the carnage. 

     “R-right…” Rhys started shakily, trying to take a fortifying breath just to flinch as the air carried with it the smell of burning flesh. “I guess we should...split up to look for survivors?” 

     Fiona gave him a pinched look, surveying the crash site. “If there even are any...” She huffed a breath. “Ok, I guess, I’ll just look over this side.” 

     Rhys picked the direction opposite her, and silently started to circle the downed ship.

     Most of the hull had given way in the crash, like an aluminum can crushed against the skull of a particularly unruly patron. Only instead of a skull it was the unresisting ground, and instead of being filled with beer the tin can had been full of people. Rhys gulped, echo eye glancing over bodies in search of movement. 

     Rhys was about ready to give up, certain that no one must have made it out of the crash alive when he caught the sound of a groan, almost lost to the rush of his own heartbeat in his ears. A dark haired man with a thick beard lay face down on the ground, half buried under a fallen mast. Rhys rushed over, dropping to his knees besides him. His hands hovered over the bloody form, unsure what he should be doing. 

     “Fiona! Come quick I found someone!” Rhys called franticly over his shoulder.

     He gave a high pitched shriek and nearly jumped out of his skin as a blood damp hand clamped hard on his forearm. Rhys whipped his head back to the prone form. His gaze met with two desperate sunken eyes in a face gone grey with pain and blood loss. He struggled to stutter over his words. “W-what..who.. What happened?”  The man gave a wet cough, blood spilling past his lips.

     “Pirates,” his deep voice groaned out. “The scar..,” here another cough “he came looking for it.” The man's grip was painful tight. “Can’t let him take it from me.” The man was half in Rhy’s lap now, his gaze turning foggy as he clung to the thinner man’s trembling form. He raised his head, mouth opening as if to say more when he let out an awful rattling sound. His body lurched once, and then went suddenly horribly limp across Rhys’s lap. 

     He was hyperventilating, Rhys noted distantly, his echo hub warning him of his own elevated heart rate. He didn’t know how long he sat there in the bloody muck, except suddenly Fiona was at his side. She shook at his shoulder, sounding to him far away, like a voice heard from underneath the waves. She grabbed him from beneath his armpits, hauling him to unsteady feet. He looked at her, feeling lost, and realized for the first time that something had been pressed into his hands. He glanced down, ignoring the drying blood on his palms, and struggled to make sense of what he was looking at. It was a pearlescent metal sphere, smooth and cool in his hands. It was bisected by a red stripe and covered in intricate engravings that danced in the shifting light of the fire that crackled over the ship. 

     Fiona tugged at his elbow, trying to bring him back to reality. He could hear the sound of sirens now, still far off but drawing closer. “Come on Rhys, I think we’d better get out of here.” 


	2. Chapter 2

     The dead man’s name was Vasquez, Rhys later learned,  subtly listening in on the hushed whispers of the tavern’s patrons in the days following the crash. According to them he had been a well off merchant with a reputation for having an ego that outpaced his actual abilities and a smug disposition only a mother could love, along with an interest in collecting obscure artifacts.

     According to August, he was a crook who had done some dirty business with Vallory a while back. August didn’t say what, and Rhys figured it was better not to ask. And anyway, if Vallory was bothered by the death of her previous business partner, she didn’t show it. All the better for Rhys.

     Officially, the crash had been credited to a malfunction in the ship’s gravitational matrix, a freak accident. But still, a sort of cloying tension would roll off of the sailors who dragged their sorry bodies to the inn for a pint, their gazes darting about suspiciously. And the man’s grey face would float up in his mind’s eye.

_‘Pirate’_ the man had said. Something about a scar and a pirate.

     Maybe it was just the delusional ravings of a dying man, but somehow Rhys doubted it.

     Rhys lay belly down on his bed and turned the sphere he’d gotten over in his hands. His fingers ran idly over the markings on it, peering down at them as Fiona and Sasha chattered on the floor.

     Rhys frowned. The sphere was sturdy, heavier than it looked. But as he drummed his nails against it the hollow sound that echoed back at him implied that it wasn't solid all the way through. It was certainly beautiful, interconnected swirling markings cutting through the opalescent shine of the surface. Still, Rhys just couldn't understand what would make it worth dying over. There had to be something that he was missing. His brows furrowed as he tapped out constellations against the notches in the sphere.

     “Are you even listening to me?” Fiona called out as she rose, poking Rhys in the side. “Would you put that thing down already? It's creepy. You got it off a corpse. Come on.” She reached out to garb for it, trying to snatch it from Rhys’s grasp. He gave a yelp, clutching it close to his body as he tried to roll away fro her.

“Hey! Bug off! I'm trying to figure it out. Will you quit i-” Fiona lunged at him, her fist closing around the sphere, fingers pressing in against the markings and-

     “Holy shit!” Fiona pulled back with a start as something clicked, Sasha’s face whipping up from where she had been painting her nails. The sphere turned and began to open in Rhys’s hands, warm amber light spilled forth from it, swirling upwards into the room. The light stretched to fill the space around them, enveloping them in a sea of shimmering planets and stars. Rhys’s jaw dropped as he watched the starscape shift. There was the Pandora spaceport, a dark triangle hovering over it to denote their location. Rhys could make out the familiar shape of Elpis, the next planet over, and further still Promethea.  And in the center of it all, in an uncharted slice of space, blinked a far off planet. His breath caught in his throat, face gone slack with shock.

     He recognized it instantly. A planet surrounded by two intersecting rings. A symbol from a childhood spent listening in on the boisterous tales of the sailors that frequented the Purple Skag. The notorious legend of ‘the loot of a thousand worlds’.

     Suddenly, the bright lights of the map cut out. The sphere gave a series of cheerful beeps in Rhys’s hands, drawing his attention. It's pearlescent exterior split open further, revealing the shining lcd face panels and stringy arms of a palm sized robot. Rhys gaped down at the bot’s adorably miniscule face as a staticy voice started up.

     “Hi! I’m the Galactic Orientation Reader for Traveler’s Yardarm System, but you can call me Gortys!” Fiona let an unsteady breath, shaking her head in disbelief.

     “You are the cutest little robot I have ever seen!” Fiona cooed, leaning forward to get a better look at her. The bot smiled back.  

     “Thank you!” Gortys’s digital mouth gave an inquisitive quirk. “Hmmm, I can’t really remember how I got here, but my sensors tell me I'm a long way from home. I don’t suppose you guys could give me a lift back to Traveler’s Vault could you?” From the floor, Rhys heard Sasha give an incredulous laugh and mutter _‘no way’_. He couldn’t hold back his own tittering laughter. A wide warm smile split across his face as Rhys felt his heart beat hard in excitement.

     “Of course!”          

\--------

     Rhys, Sasha, and Fiona had all immediately agreed that Valory could _not_ find out about Gortys, sure that the wretched old harpy would try to confiscate her. Which meant there was no way that they would be able to use her connections to organize the voyage. If they wanted to do this, they would have to do it on their own.

     Fiona had nodded, a far off look in her face, and said that she knew someone, a retired captain from the Crimson Lance with a favor she still needed turning in. Rhys knew someone too. Two someone's in fact, who could help them with procuring a ship. If, that is, he could happen to convince them.

     Afterall, what he would be suggesting wasn’t exactly legal.

     Vaughn had come around right away of course, being Rhys’s best bro in the whole wide galaxy. And his face had pulled tight with determination after they had snuck up to Rhy’s room to activate Gortys, listening keenly as the tiny robot rambled on about the sophisticated navigation system she had built in that would lead them to their goal. Of course...Vaughn had never been the only person he had needed to convince. To really get anything done, they would need the help of an Atlas Shipping Company requisitions master.  

     Yvette looked between them with a scoff. “You guys can’t be serious.” She gave Rhys a pointed look. “How do you even know that things real?” she said, her body crouched over where Rhys held Gortys in her deactivated form underneath the table. Rhys had hoped buttering Yvette up with a free meal at the Inn would help convince her, but it did mean that they would have to be careful of wandering eyes and ears. Yvette swallowed down a gulp of her ale before continuing. “I mean...Traveler’s Vault is just a legend. And even if it wasn’t, what are the chances that the map would just fall into your lap?”

     Rhys gave Yvette a plaintive look, gazing up at her with puppy eyes he knew she could never resist for long. He noted the way she struggled to hold onto the flat set of her mouth.

     He had known Vaughn and Yvette for even longer than he’d known Fiona and Sasha. He’d known them from before, from back when their parents had all been friends. (From back when he had still had parents). As kids they had all laughed about how they were going to work together one day. That they were going to get rich and get off planet and explore the galaxy together. They'd all been smart and driven and hungry to see the world.  

     Only Vaughn and Yvette weren’t orphans. Their parents were alive to support them. To pay for expensive textbooks and Altas corporation early prep courses. To feed and clothe them so that they’d have time to study for the trading company’s rigorous entrance exams while Rhys had been working extra shifts at the Purple Skag to keep from being booted to the streets.

     He had tried to keep up. While they had listened to lectures straight from the city’s top professors, Rhys had listened to the drunken tales of passing sailors and been left to read their notes as he swept up after hours. Rhys learned navigation tips passed on with a firm clap on the back as he scooped up empty plates and beer steins while they practiced in classrooms. He’d been resigned to pouring over books and echo tablets between shifts, but when he was on the floor he’d never been able to resist the hypnotic pull of well spun tale from men who’d actually been out amongst the stars, for something more than theory. And the best of them, the most enrapturing, the tales that would make all the old star sailors huddle close with excitement, were always about the loot of a thousand worlds, about the Eridan Raiders and their notorious Captain Nate “Traveler” Lawrence. Captain Traveler who had ravaged space, raiding countless ports and merchant ships and each time disappearing without a trace.

     It was said that he had accumulated _‘the loot of a thousand worlds’_. It was said that he’d hidden it all away, never to be found. Captain Traveler was long gone, but still the legend persisted, lighting a fire under asses of countless explorers and treasure hunters who looked feverishly for “Traveler’s Vault”.  

     They’d all taken the same practice test together, had memorized the same information. But in the end Vaughn and Yvette had gotten a piece of paper at the end certifying their knowledge and Rhys had not. And when it came down to being hired that had been all the difference. Rhys had tried not to feel inferior for it, to let it discourage him.

     Now, for the first time, Rhys felt blessed for his more unconventional education.

     “Yvette. This is it. This is my chance. This is my ticket out. I know that this is real; I’ve heard about it all my life.” Rhys watched for the twitch at the corner of her lip, the tell in her poker face. “Yvette. I need you to trust me. Please.” Vaughn’s gaze flickered between their faces nervously.

     Yvette gave in with a sigh, the slump of her shoulders relaxing as she leaned back in her booth. She uncrossed her arms.  

     “Ok then, what do you need?” Rhys beamed back at her.

     Vaughn helped them scrap together a crew, Rhys sold off his raydon converter to cover the cost of a crew and a voyages worth of supplies. They came to Valory with some bullshit story about Rhys going along with Fiona on one of her odd jobs and that had been that.

     They were doing this. They were finding Traveler’s Vault.

\--------

     Pandora’s biggest space port was alive with the bustle of action. The shrill call of vendors sprung forth, trying to entice the passengers who poured from their travel vessels to stop and visit their stalls. Sailors bustled about, hauling cargo, swapping tales, parting from or eagerly drawing towards their landlocked lover’s embrace. The ever present surge of bodies moving from one destination to another. Rhys felt alive with the energy of it all.

     He bounced on his toes, grinning up at the elegant shape of the Atlas “Caravan”, a fine swift ship with lovely wine red sailor sails that was usually used for hauling luxury goods to and from Dionysus. He had matched the outer plating of his arm to the sails, and worn his best shirt as well. He’d spent half his morning before the mirror, fussing over his appearance. Rhys just wanted the day to go perfectly.

     Vaughn had spent the morning taking one final look over the ship, checking that Loaderbot had carried in all of their supplies and that the crew he hired was settled and accounted for.

     “You ready for this? Think you can handle your first trip off planet?” asked Fiona, looking over him with a flick of her hat. Behind here Sasha glanced around nervously, ears twitching as she eyed the crew with suspicion.

     

 

     Rhys grinned back at her, clutching his maps to his chest. He’d spent the past week going over them with Gortys, ensuring they had their course charted ahead of time, choosing alternate routes to account for the mysteries of less traveled space.

     “I’m ready.”

     Sasha frowned at his response.

     “I don’t know about this guys. Something about this gives me a bad feeling.”

     “What,” Fiona teased, “Afraid you’re missing out on all the fun?” Sasha rolled her eyes at her, giving her sister a playful shove.

     “Hey! If anything I’m afraid you idiots are going to bungle everything up without me. And anyway _someone_ has to hold down the fort while you’re gone. Or else we’ll get back to find all our stuff on the curb and Vallory renting our rooms out,” she teased back. “But I’m _serious_ guys. Something about this feels weird. I just need you guys to keep an eye out at least ok?” Rhys nodded back to her, touched by her concern.

     “Ok Sasha, we’ll be careful” Rhys promised her.

     A shrill sound rang out from the ship and Rhys’s head swiveled to follow it, Vaughn was hollering something at him, waving for him to come aboard. He rushed up the ramp to the ship-

     And immediately tripped.

     “He’s hopeless.” Sasha deadpanned. Fiona just shook her head besides her.


	3. Chapter 3

     Captain Athena had been with the Crimson Lance for most of her life. And then she had not been. And then she had settled down with her wife Janey. At some point between all this she had met Fiona and been either blackmailed by or endeered to her, possibly a combination of the two. 

     And now she was in front of Rhys and totally shitting on all his dreams. 

     The captain had taken Gortys, locking her away in her private quarters. 

     “I do not trust this crew,” Athena pushed out tersely, and Rhys couldn’t help but be reminded of Sasha’s muttered warning. The captain pressed on. “Your short friend told me he hired them through Atlas, but somehow they don’t look like the merchant type. I think it’s better that  _ this, _ ” she tossed Gortys into the air, catching her again effortlessly, “stays up here, where it’s kept safe.” Rhys opened his mouth to protest, but then thought better of it. It was sad that Gortys would have to be deactivated for so long, but he agreed readily enough that it would be the safest decision. “You,” she went on “will be working down in the galley with our cook Mr. Handson.” Rhys’s head snapped up at that.

     “The cook!? Ma’am you can’t be serious…”

     “Do you have any sailing experience?” 

     “Well, not reall-”

     “Have you ever taken any classes?” 

     “Well, no but-”

     “Have you ever even been on a ship before?”

     Rhys’s face burned with equal parts embarrassment and indignation, his mouth twisting in displeasure. 

     “I may not have any practical experience but-” Athena spun on her heels, her coat tails swishing behind her. Her eyes narrowed at him, even as her voiced sighed out with forced patience. 

     “This isn’t a pleasure cruise. We’re going into uncharted space. I have Gortys to map our course and we already have a navigator on board. I need this ship running smoothly and I can’t have you stumbling over yourself and getting in the way.” The corners of her pale eyes turned downward in sympathy. “It’s nothing personal.” She sat down at her desk, flipping through some papers she had spread out attop it. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a ship to prepare for launch.” She glanced up briefly to where Fiona had stood awkwardly throughout the exchange. “Fiona, escort your  _ friend  _ to the galley.” Fiona nodded back at her, her voice coming soft as she replied. 

     “Yes ma'am.” 

     At least she had the dignity to look ashamed as she took Rhys by the arm, shooting him sympathetic glances from beneath the brim of her hat. Still, her grip on his metal arm was firm as she lead him away from the Captain’s quarters and into the bowels of the ship. Rhys shot her a betrayed look. “Oh stop it.” She huffed. “Look, she has a point. You’re like…. probably the clumsiest guy on the planet.”

     “ _ You _ aren’t being banished to underground!” He piped up in protest.

     “Yeah, and I’m not as clumsy as you are.  _ And _ I’ve been on board tons of ships before.” Rhys huffed as they descend into the hold, but still he couldn’t resist the urge to power on his echo eye and glance around.

     In the main storage area: rolled up bolts of the spair sails, barrels of deep blue fruit, and hanging sacks of dry meats. There was enough water to last all of them for 5 months time, and a huge wedge of block soap for washing dishes and sailors alike that would hold for even longer. Fiona led him past dowels wrapped tight with lengths of rope and netting towards a doorway to the back of the ship. Through the billowing steam, Rhys’s echo eye locked onto a deftly moving figure. 

     He tripped distracted through the doorway as the aromatic steam rushed out to meet them.

     It smelled kind of amazing in there, actually. But the scent of simmering broth wasn’t what had Rhys’s mouth watering. Rys felt his face flush with warmth.  

     The cook was… not what Rhys had been expecting. His thin white shirt clung tightly to a well shaped back, the fabric gone slightly transparent from either steam or perspiration. He wore a red belt cinched about his waist, further emphasizing the already broad set of his shoulders. His skin was kissed tan from the sun and complimented by a healthy head of chocolaty brown hair that had been styled in a way that could most accurately be described as ‘elegantly disheveled’. He worked quickly, the muscles in his thick arms moving as he chopped vegetables and swiveled on his heels to dump them in the bubbling pot that sat on the stove. 

_      ‘Roguish Good Looks,’  _ Rhys thought dimly, trying hard not to stare. For the first time that phrase felt like it made sense to him.  

     “Mr. Handson!” Fiona called out. The cook turned to face them and Rhys felt the air be punched from his gut. 

     His eyes glimmered in the dim light of the galley--one blue, one green. And dashed between them, cutting across his face-

     A scar. 

     Rhys struggled to school his featured into a neutral expression as his heartbeat sped in his chest. The grey face popped into his head again, the smell of smoke and the feel of sticky blood. He felt the color drain from his face. Taking a step back, he shook his head,  sure that he was overreacting. After all, plenty of people had scars. That alone wasn’t proof of anything.

     Still, he’d been told twice now to keep an eye out.

     “First mate,” Mr. Handson replied smoothly, placing a casual hand on his hip as he leaned against the galley counters. “What can I do for you?” 

     First mate? Rhys’s head whipped round to frown at Fiona, who studiously ignored him. 

     “This is Rhys, he’s the... _ financier _ of our voyage,” she said, trying to suppress her grin. The sharp eyes turned to Rhys now, racking up and down his body, sizing him up. Rhys tried not to shiver, fighting hard against the fluttery feeling of warmth that bloomed in his stomach at the slow grin that spread over the man’s face. “He’s also your new cabin boy. The captain has informed me that he’s to be left in your charge.”

     “My what? Hold on a sec-” he started to protest, pushing off from the counter. Fiona just gave a shrug, raising her hands in a placating gesture. 

     “Hey don’t shoot the messenger. It’s Captain’s orders.” She gave Rhys a hearty clap on the back. “Have fun,” she said, moving through the doorway to disappear back into the hold.

      Rhys let out an anxious breath, eyeing where the cook stood watching her go. He turned to Rhys, his expression shifting back into a smile with far too many sharp white teeth. He ran a hand through his hair before extending it for Rhys to shake.

     “Jack Handson, resident chef and your new hero,” he said, punctuating his statement with a wink. A strangely amorphous purple blob sprung up from behind him, swirling rapidly around his head before settling on his shoulder and taking the shape of a small shimmering unicorn. Jack gave a chuckle. “And this pretty lady is Buttstalion. She’s a morph. Guess we’ll be working together then, hu kiddo?”  

     “Uhh,” Rhys responded smartly, reaching out to shake his waiting hand, “guess we will.” 

     Jack gave his hand a firm shake, and then immediately tugged Rhys nearly off his feet as he pulled him forward by the wrist, craning his neck to get a better look at his arm. “Ooh. Nice prosthetic you got there, cupcake. Must have cost you a pretty penny.” Rhys gave an awkward laugh, rubbing at the back of his neck. 

     “Not really…” Jack raised his eyebrow in a silent question, and Rhys pressed on. “I built it myself. From scrap. The plating’s the only thing that’s new.” Jack gave a low whistle, jamming a sharp claw into the seam between two plates, leveraging it up to take a peek underneath. “Hey, what are you-!” He waved a dismissive hand in Rhys’s face. 

     “Relax, relax! I know my way around cybernetics. I just want to take a look.” His clawed hands prodded at Rhy’s wiring, sending an unpleasant jolt up his arm. “You should really keep this thing oiled better.” Rhys tugged his arm free with an affronted huff, ignoring the amused tilt to Jack’s mouth. 

     “I can take care of myself thank you!” Jack gave a laugh, throwing his arm around Rhys’s shoulders. 

     “Didn’t you hear the lady? You’re in my charge now. Don’t worry kiddo, I can take  _ real _ good care of ya.” Rhys felt his face blush red as Jack drew him close to his side. “I always take good care of my things...mostly.”

     Above and all around them the ship gave a shuddering groan, the momentary distraction giving Rhys the perfect opportunity to duck out from beneath Jack’s arm. From deep within the ship, Rhys heard the sound of the solar cells beginning to power on. 

     “That’ll be lift off then. This your first time?” Rhys gave a tentative nod. “Go on, you should watch it. You only get one maiden voyage after all.” He waved Rhys off casually, giving him a firm pat on the butt. Rhys gasped, affronted. “There’ll be plenty left for you to do when you get back.” 

     “Right.” Rhys said, shoulders stiff as he turned to go. He was desperate to get a moment out of the oppressive heat of the kitchen, and to put some distance between him and Jack. Rhys had only just met him, but already the older man had him overwhelmed, his personality too big to fit into the cramped space of the galley. “I’ll just...head upstairs then.” Rhys turned and absolutely did not flee from the kitchen. 

     He could feel the weight of Jack’s gaze on his back all the way to the stairs, heavy as any physical presence. His long legs worked quickly to take the steps two at a time. Rhys shielded his eyes as he emerged onto the deck, nearly panting despite his efforts to keep his pace even. He ran a hand through his hair, taking a deep fortifying breath of cool dockside air. From the bow of the ship he heard the captain give a shout. 

     “Prepare to cast off!” 

     The deck was swarming with activity. Rhys stumbled backwards, trying to find an unobtrusive corner to watch from. Busy sailors surged around him, untethering the ship from the dock. He gaped at the deft movements of men and women quickly scaling the shrouds, working their way up the mast and hoisting themselves up on the booms to where the sails where fastened tight. Athena stood besides the helmsman, arms folded neatly behind her, and in a booming voice called out,

     “Loose all sails!”

     The waiting crew worked quickly, yanking at the thick rope binding the sails to The Caravan’s three big masts. The deep red fabric unfurled, conductors reflecting in the midday light. Rhys felt a shiver of bright excitement run through him. He could never resist the rush he got from watching the shine of sails in sunlight. The ship began to rumble deeply beneath his feet, vibrations rattling their way all the way up into the bones of his legs. The sails would be working now, transporting energy down the mast to the thirsty solar cells that sat deep in the ship’s core and powered everything. 

     The rumbling of the cells grew louder, and Rhys’s stomach gave a nervous flip as the ship pulled free from the dock with a resounding  _ crack. _ It began to hover, and then rise. Only Rhys was rising too now, feet kicking to find purchase on a deck that was rapidly drifting away from him, and unlike the rest of the crew, he hadn’t thought to tie himself down to anything. 

     Rhys gave an undignified squawk, arms frantically trying to grab at the mast and give him something to hold onto. The squawk turned into an alarmed shriek when a large hand closed down around his ankle. Rhys glanced down, alarmed.

     It was Jack. He shot Rhys a smug look as the captain’s voice rang out once more.

     “Engage artificial gravity matrix!” she called. Somewhere from across the ship an answering cry wrang out ‘aye aye’. The gravity shuddered back to life suddenly and Rhys plummeted.

     Right into Jack’s waiting arms. 

     Jack waggled his eyebrows at Rhys, humor dancing in his gaze.

     “What’d I tell you pumpkin? Said I’d take good care of you,” he chuckled as he set Rhys on his feet again. He let out an annoyed huff, looking away from Jack’s teasing grin in embarrassment.

     “Um, thanks.” he muttered out.

     The ship was drifting higher and higher now, pulling away from the dock and turning to start towards the atmo gates. Rhys rushed forward to peer over the ship’s railing, entranced by the way they cut so effortlessly through the clouds, leaving the surface of the ship covered in a fine layer of mist. Even the birds were far below them now. Rhys was entranced, his solar surfer could never take him this high. Jack drifted over to his side again, laying a broad hand on the small of his back.

     “Hold on tight now.” he warned. Rhys gave him a questioning look but acquiesced, gripping tight to the railing. 

     And nearly got knocked off his feet anyway when the ship surged forward, barrelling towards the gate. 

     Jack laughed in his face, the jerk. 

\--------

     “This  _ sucks. _ ” Rhys ground out, pouting up at where Fiona leaned casually against the railing with her ankles crossed and munched happily on an apple. He tossed the brush he had been scrubbing the deck with back into the sudsy bucket. “I’m spending all my time doing manual labor, the bathroom barely has enough room for me to do my hair. I get that this isn't a passenger ship and everyone needs to pitch in, but if I'm the ‘financier’, why is it that I’m the one who’s getting stuck with all the grunt work?” Fiona made a nocomital sound around her mouthful of apple, bouncing her foot to a jolly beat that only she could hear.

     “Sucks to suck I guess.” Rhys shot her an annoyed look. “Look, that's just what it’s like being the newbie. It’s not like you know how to do anything else yet.”     

     “Yeah? And how am I supposed to learn anything if all I’m doing is cooking and cleaning? If I wanted to scrub floors all day I could have just stayed back at the Purple Skag and at least been getting paid for it.” Fiona just gave him a shrug. “And about that, how are  _ you _ First Mate anyway?” The feline finished her apple, tossing the core overboard she popped to her feet.

     “I told you, Athena owes me a favor. And I’ve been on a ship before.” Rhys frowned at her. He knew that work oftentimes took her to unusual places, but he didn’t remember her ever spending that much time away from home at once. Certainly not long enough to learn to be an officer. 

     But then again there was a lot he didn’t know about the sisters, and he had learned it was better not to pry. If she wanted him to know he’d know.

     Evidently she did not. 

     “Speaking of which, I should probably go make the rounds. Good luck with your...cleaning..thing.” Rhys breathed out a huff.

     “ _ This sucks! This sucks! _ ” Buttstallion zipped around his head, squeaking out in a high pitched voice. Rhys swatted at her halfheartedly, rolling his eyes at the small creature’s antics. Rhys had barely had a moment to glance around himself after the launch, watching the sailors go about their business, before Jack was there with a coarse brush and a bucket, tasking him with scrubbing the deck until it shone. He’d left Buttstallion with Rhys to ‘keep an eye on him’, but truthfully he was grateful for the company. The tiny shape shifter was pretty cute when she wasn’t busy getting into trouble. Like right now. “ _ This sucks! _ ”

     “Language Buttstallion!” As if merely thinking about him had caused him to materialize, Jack suddenly appeared. Rhys jumped up with a start, turning to face the older man. He gave Rhys a crooked grin. “You teaching her naughty words cupcake? Are you going to be a bad influence?”  

     “Hey, how do you even know it was me?” The morph shifted to take the cybernetic man’s form in miniature, putting two tiny hands on its hips and giving its teasing imitation of him. 

     “ _ This sucks! _ ” Jack gave Rhys a pointed look, a single well groomed eyebrow rising in question. Rhys slumped in defeat. 

     “Ok maybe it was me. Aren’t you a sailor anyway? What do you care about bad language?” Jack just rolled his eyes, holding a steaming bowl under Rhys’s face.

     “Sorry all of us can’t be walking stereotypes kiddo. Here, don’t hurt yourself. You’ve been out here long enough.” 

     Rhys took a deep sniff of the brothy stew. The steam that rose up from it was wonderfully aromatic, smelling of fragrant herbs and spices that he couldn’t put a name to, and Rhys wasted no time taking the first bite. His eyebrows rose high on his forehead.

     “Wow.” he stated, struck dumb by how good it tasted. The broth was juicy and thick, the potatoes were cooked to perfection, and the meat practically turned to butter on his tongue. The stew was probably the best one he’d had in his life, let alone what he expected to be eating on a voyage to the far off regions of uncharted space. “This is really good.”

     “Yeah? Tell me something I don’t know.” Jack took Fiona’s place leaned against the railing and watched. His posture conveyed the kind of casual disregard found only in those who were truly confident in themselves. Rhys watched Jack watch him, chewing carefully, and was struck once again by just how handsome the sailor was. He didn’t look like any of the men that had turned up regularly at the Purple Skag. He looked more like the dashing “sailor” you’d see painted on the cover of a lady’s novel than an actual one. He turned back to his stew and started shovelling more food into his mouth, hoping that his blush wasn’t visible on the back of his pale neck. 

     “Umm. The third admiral of the Elpis fleet likes his eggs done over easy.” Jack made a questioning sound in the back of his throat. “Something you don't know? He used to stop by our Inn a lot when he was in town. Before he was an admiral.” The sailor gave a dry chuckle, shaking his head.

     “I’ll have to keep that in mind, in case I ever find myself cooking for the  _ esteemed _ admiral.” Something in his tone told Rhys that Jack didn’t much care for Admiral Pollux, but to be fair his tips had always been shit anyway. Also his chin strap looked stupid. So Rhys didn’t find he much cared. “So you own an Inn then? It must be doing pretty well for you to be able to pay for all this,” he said, motioning widely to the ship around them. 

     “Oh no, I don’t own it, I just live there.” He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly “The ship I’m...borrowing...from a friend. And the rest I paid for by, um,  _ rehoming _ things from shipwrecks.” At that Jack gave a hearty laugh.

     “ _ Rehoming? _ Is that what they’re calling it now?” The grin he wore was easy and loose, but there was an edge in his eyes that Rhys couldn’t quite place. “You find anything interesting recently?” 

     “A functional raydon converter.” Rhys spat back without hesitation, watching close for his reaction. Jack gave a low whistle, smooth as anything . 

     “Yeah that would do you. Those things don’t come cheap.” 

     Maybe Rhys  _ was _ just letting his imagination run away with him. Jack was just curious, that didn’t mean he was acting suspicious.

     “Yeah, especially because it was an Altas XV3. And those don’t overheat and explode nearly as often as the V1s.” 

     “God yeah, those V1 make better bombs than batteries.” He gave Rhys a calculating look, sizing him up for the second time that day. “You know your stuff. And you said you built that arm of yours yourself too?” Rhys nodded, grinning with pride. “That's pretty impressive. What’s someone like you doing working in some dinky little Inn?” 

     Rhys’s shoulders slumped as he looked back down at his bowl unhappily, scraping his spoon against the very dregs at the bottom. 

     “Yeah well, I never went to school for it or anything, so it doesn’t really matter how much I know. No one’s going to hire me.”

     “Well, that depends on what kind of work you’re looking for.” Rhys glanced back up to find Jack still watching him. He opened his mouth, about to ask him what he meant by that, when a great hulking bear of a man with a voice like thunder drew up besides them.

     “Jack. Nisha says she wants to talk to you.” He glanced briefly at Rhys, his own cybernetic eye gleaming in the starlight. “Told me to tell you it’s about...dessert.” Jack perked up at that.

     “Sure thing Wilhelm. Tell her I’ll be right there.” he said, receiving a grunt in response. He turned back to Rhys, giving his folded legs a kick with the toe of his boot. “And you, up and at em. You’ve got a sink full of dishes waiting for you in the galley, and I need them all clean before you’re in bed.”

     Rhys rose with a groan.

     “Alright, alright already im getting up.” he said with a pout. Just when the thought maybe Jack wasn’t totally obnoxious he sends him to work again. Dishes. That was fine. He’d washed dishes before. 

     Except Jack had apparently felt the need to use every single pot and pan they had for dinner. Ugh. 

     The dishes spilled up out of the sink and onto the counter. So many utensils sat in the deep basin he couldn't actually make out the bottom of it. Piles of pans sat stacked high on top of the stove, caked in grease and mealy bits. Rhys sighed, rolling up the sleeve on him flesh arm and watching Buttstallion morph into her preferred unicorn shape and settle down on the shelf to watch him work. 

     “Ok,” he said, huffing a breath and starting to pull the largest pans out of the sink to give himself room to work. “Guess I better get started.”

     By the time Rhys dropped into his hammock, tucked into the very back of the room, he didn’t even have the energy to complain about Wilhelm’s snoring form sagging low enough to nearly touch him. He fell asleep almost before his head hit the pillow, his dreams filled with images of glory and treasure, and all of the countless stars.  


	4. Chapter 4

     The next week and a half passed more or less in this fashion, with Rhys working all day on some menial task, sweeping or peeling potatoes or untangling rope. When he was done he’d dick around the ship, making sure to keep Buttstallion entertained lest she wander off back to her master and let him know that Rhys needed something else to be given to do. Until Jack inevitably caught him slacking off and saddled him with some other boring task. In the few moments they both had free together and he caught him in a particularly giving mood, Jack would impart on him random bits of knowledge: common knots he’d have to know, the different parts of the ship, the chain of command and who it was that held each position. Simple stuff.

     He spoke with Fiona rarely, save for the times they would both be called into the captain's quarters to activate Gortys and make sure they were still of course for the vault. Lately she had spent all her time at Athena’s side, working closely with her as her right hand. Rhys tried not to be bitter about it, with mixed success.

     It has only been a few days, but still, Rhys couldn’t help but feel like things weren’t all that different from how they’d be if he had stayed at home, except now at least he had a nicer view.

     And if you were to ask him if that view was of the stars or Jack’s thick arms...well, who could say.

     He was drawn from his thoughts by the sound of jeering from a group of mean faced sailors who huddled about the center mast. Rhy’s didn’t understand why he had to work his ass off when they had time to sit around and harass him. It was nothing he had never heard before from drunken patrons at the Inn. They made kissing sounds and catcalled him, calling him things like ‘pretty boy’ and asking how much it would cost for them to have him for an hour or two.

     Ah yes, assholes. Some things never changed. He concentrated on his mopping and tried to drown them out.

     “Hey! You ignoring me? I’m talking to you!” Rhys heard the sound of heavy footsteps drawing nearer. He took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders and turned.

     It was always the ugly ones wasn’t it? He rolled his eyes as the man stomped over to him. He probably thought he looked very impressive to his friends, strutting up to Rhys with exaggerated swagger. Rhys just thought he looked like he was trying too hard.

     “You think you’re too good to talk to us cabin boy? Think you’re better than us?” He leaned forward far enough that Rhys could feel his rank exhale against his face. It stank like a rotten tooth.

     “I mean I’ve at least got better breath.” he said flinching back.

     “What was that?” the man growled, grabbing Rhys by the collar of his shirt and hoisting him to the his tiptoes.

     “Hey! Let go of me asshole!” he yelled.

     It all happened very quickly after that. One moment he was watching the rage build in the sailor’s eyes, the next Jack had one arm gripped tight around his waist and one boot firmly planted in the other guy’s gut. The man fell back against the deck with a harsh thud, groaning against the feeling of having the wind knocked out of him.

     “Hey!” one of the sailors friend’s shouted, rushing over to grab at Jack’s arm. It was a foolish mistake. Jack wrenched his arm from his grip, cracking his elbow back into the other man’s face with a sick crunch. A dangerous manic laugh bubbled up from his throat, making Rhys shiver where he stood frozen watching it all take place. The man stumbled back, clutching his bleeding broken nose.

     “You see, that's what i don’t get about you idiots,” he spoke, voice sounding like ice, “what made you think that it’d be ok to try to lay your hands on _my_ cabin boy?”

     Before either man even had a moment to stand or react, Jack spun around, making Rhys flinch so hard he nearly dropped his broom. He picked Rhys up and hoisted him over his shoulders, turning on his heels to march away.

     Rhys gave a squawk, beating his metal fist against Jack’s back.

     “Jack! What the hell! I can walk you know,” he yelled, trying to kick himself free from Jack’s grasp. His face burned bright red in embarrassment. “Put me down!”

     “Keep still you lil’ shit.”Jack ground out, tension thick in his shoulders. Rhys craned his head, shooting the older man a glare as he was shifted up his shoulder. Jack adjusted his grip, holding him tighter.

     Jack’s big hands felt like a brand where they touched him, even through his clothes. He could feel the prick of claws against his skin. Rhys’s stomach gave a lurch. He looked studiously at the floor, and forced himself to keep his breathing even.

     Stupid, stupid. Why was he even thinking about that? Rhys had to be careful, he was supposed to be keeping his guard up. Jack had just taken out too big men without even breaking a sweat. That should scare him, not make something tight coil in his gut.

     Jack let him back on his feet once they reached the far side of the ship, plopping him in front of himself and resting his hands on his hips as he stared him down.

     “Mind explaining to me what all that was about cupcake?” He growled, displeasure writ plainly across his face. Rhys crossed his arms and glared at him, affronted.

     “I don’t have anything to explain to you.” he grumbled out, moving to step around him.

     Rhys saw something dangerous flash in Jack’s eyes. His hand shot out with frightening speed, snatching Rhys’s flesh wrist and gripping tight. He yanked him back, making Rhys stumble.

     “Oh I think you do. The captain put _me_ in charge of you. I can’t have you making trouble for me. Do you _understand_ ?” Rhys reeled back as if struck, the words echoing too closely the kind of thing he spent a lifetime hearing from Vallory. Things really hadn’t changed at _all._

     “I didn’t even do anything!” he cried out, tugging at his wrist. “Let go of me already!”. Jack’s hand refused to budge.

     “I _saw_ you insult that guy.”

     “Yeah? And did you also see him come up to me and start harassing me for no reason!?” Jack gave a tired huff, his grip on Rhy’s wrist loosening without letting go.

     “Look, you gotta learn to pick your battles kiddo. Didn’t your mommy and daddy ever teach you that?” A dark look came over Rhys’s face. He pulled his arm free with one final tug, studiously smoothing down the wrinkles in his sleeve instead of looking into Jack’s face. “Geeze, sore subject I guess?”

     “My parents died when I was little. I was raised by a horrible old hag that never wanted to talk to me let alone give me advice.” Jack gave a dry bark of laughter at that, pinching tightly at the bridge of his nose as the tension drained out of his shoulders.

     “Yeah I- I get that, actually.” He shook his head, squinting up at him. “That’s rough kiddo.” Rhys puffed out a sigh.

     “I mean, it’s- it’s whatever.” Compulsively, his hand went to fix his hair. He took a fortifying breath, shooting Jack a nervous peek from beneath his lashes. “By the way, thanks. For defending me.”

     Something shifted in jack’s posture. He leaned back against mizzen mast and the smug sense of self confidence was back.

     “Don’t sweat it kiddo. I told you I was a hero?” he said, wagging his eyebrows flirtatiously. Rhys rolled his eyes at him and crossed his arms.

     “Oh yeah,” he called back sarcastically. “My hero.” Jack shot him a wink that absolutely did not have Rhys’s heart rate stuttering. It did not. The older man gave him a firm clap on the back.

     “Alrighty, I’ve decided.”

     “Decided what?” Rhys asked, squinting at him suspiciously.

     Jack’s only answer was a sly grin.

\--------

     Things were different after that.

     Jack and Rhys started spending more time together, Jack picking tasks that they could do as a team, or at the very least do standing side by side. He taught Rhys how to hold a knife correctly, how to chop veggies quick and finely without taking his fingertips off. He taught Rhys how to work dried meat into a chili so good you couldn’t tell it wasn’t fresh.

     Once, on a particularly lazy day, he taught Rhys how to make a sweet drakefruit pie with hand churned ice cream. _That_ they ate by themselves, in the quiet of the afternoon, hunched over the small island in the center of the galley.

     Rhys liked that one the best.

     They did other things too. Jack taught him new navigation tricks, how to orient himself in space. He taught him where to put his hands and feet when he clambers up the shrouds, how to haul himself up onto the masts, how to get back down twice as quick. He taught him how to rig the skiff, how to lower it, how the maneuver the small ship as deftly as he could his solar surfer.

     And all the time they cracked jokes and bantered. Jack loved the sound of his own voice, and in all honesty, Rhys could say he felt the same way. It was so easy sometimes, to let himself fall under Jack’s spell. Jack had a certain way of telling a story, putting his whole body into it, that Rhys just couldn’t resist.

     So it shouldn’t of come as a surprise, really, when Jack inevitable dragged him along to cards night with the crew. It wasn’t the whole crew, obviously, but there were enough of them that Rhys felt awkward, sticking close to Jack’s side. They had poured into the room that functioned as their mess, setting a few tables out and huddling over them in a thick cloud of cigar smoke.

     The table they had claimed was at the very back of the room, nestled in the corner. He sat sandwiched between the thick forms of Wilhelm and Jack, with Jack’s arm draped causally along the back of Rhy’s chair. Rhys sat stiffly, terribly, distractingly aware of it’s presence behind him.

     Nisha sat directly across from him, puffing on her own cigar. Her purple lip stain left a ring around the end of it, and Rhys tried to focus on that instead of the way her bright golden eyes bored into him from beneath the brim of her hat with viper like intensity. Rhys could feel a single bead of sweat drip down the collar of his shirt. Nisha’s eyebrow crawled its way slowly up her face, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.

     She exhaled a cloud of smoke directly in his face.

     Rhys reeled back coughing, the pungent smoke stinging at his eyes. Jack gave a laugh at his side.

     “Give him a break Nish, the kid’s losing already.” She let out a huff of amusement.

     “I know that, I just like watching him squirm. You know?”

     “Oh, I _know_ what you mean.”

     Nisha’s foot found his below the table just as Jack’s claws scraped teasingly over the nape of his neck. She dragged it up his calf, grinning at the way Rhys jerked in his seat.

     “Stop that!” Rhys said, cheeks pink as he flinched away from Jack’s claws. Nisha threw her head back in a laugh.

     “Relax already, here,” she said, passing him a mug filled with a spicy smelling amber beverage. “Drink this and get that stick out of your ass already would ya? I don't bite...much.” Rhys eyed her with trepidation, tossing the drink back just for an excuse to hide the flush on his face.

     And immediately started to cough and sputter.

     “God what was that, metal polish?” he gagged. Jack clapped him hard on the shoulder.

     “It’ll do you good, put some hairs on your chest!” Rhys couldn’t suppress his grimace.

     “I think I’d rather stay hairless, thanks.” he managed to press out over the burning in his throat. Jack snatched the glass from in front of Rhys, refilling it nearly to the very brim. He brought it to his own mouth first, taking a gulp before pressing the glass insistently into Rhys’s hands.

     Rhys drank from it again, if only to follow where Jack’s lips had wrapped around the glass.

     God, how strong was that shit? Maybe it hadn’t been such a great idea to toss it all back at once.

     Too late to turn back now in any case.

     Three drinks and four failed rounds of cards later, Rhys found that they had relocated to Jack’s tiny room behind the galley for more privacy. If you could call it a room.

     It was a tight squeeze. The “room” was actually a corner of the storeroom that Jack had cleared out and sectioned off with a curtain. There was enough space for him to have a dresser pressed up against a slice of free wall. A wooden spool and some crates served as a table and chairs. In the corner hung his hammock.

     It was modest, sure, but still loads better than cohabiting with 80 other hot sweating bodies in a room that always reeked of old socks and B.O. Here, at least, the air was cool and dry, and smelled wonderfully of drying herbs.

     The cramped space forced them to sit closer together, and Rhys found himself half on top of Jack’s lap just so they could all fit.

     Which wouldn’t have been a problem, usually. Rhys had gotten used, over the past few weeks, to the way Jack would touch him as they worked together, to the way he guided Rhys out of his path with a herding touch to his hip. Or the way he leaned over Rhys, m chest to back, as he guided his hands through the motions of typing a new kind of knott. Or the way he would snatch at his ankle and guide his feet back into the proper footholds when it slipped free as they worked high above the deck. He was used to it, really, and his heart hardly sped at all anymore when Jack’s hands would brush against him.

     Except at some point they’d stopped betting on money and started betting on articles of clothing. And Rhys wasn’t faring any better at this game than he had at any other.

     Jack had taken off his shoes and socks first. He’d lost his shirt and won it back, not bothering to button it so that it hung open to show off the dark trail of hair that ran up from his waistband. Nisha had lost her shirt, but won Wilhelm’s shirt and vest, and had elected to wear those instead. On anyone else the oversized clothing might have looked comical, but Nisha managed to retain her usual look of deadly grace.

     Rhys was down to his socks and underwear. And, of course his arm, whose straps he'd had to tug the top layers of his clothing out from underneath.

     The socks had been hand knit by a girl who’d stayed a vacation at the Inn and thought Rhys had been cute. Her name had been Shelly, and so she had knit tiny seashells of different colors into them to remember her by. They were Rhys’s favorite socks, and he really wished he had remembered he was wearing them before he had agreed to play this stupid game. His face scrunching up in unhappiness as the group teased him about them.

     “Leave me alone they were a gift. And they’re really warm!” he tried to protest, curling his legs closer to his body as Nisha added his pants to her ever growing pile of bounty. Jack shook his head with a grin.

     “Whatever you say cupcake.”

     Rhys slapped at him weakly. He wanted very badly to be upset at him, but he couldn’t maintain the emotion. His head was spinning, and every time he moved he found that his limbs were much looser and more difficult to control than he last remembered. He slumped against the older man’s side. In his mind the only thing he could concentrate on was the way Jack’s palm had moved to sit atop his thigh, the way his thumb traced lazy circles against his skin. Rhys forced himself to ignore it.

     “Aww, look at how embarrassed he’s getting. He’s turning pink,” Nisha cooed at him. “You’re adorable.” She reached across the small table to pat him on his blushing chest, “God your skin is so pale, and you bruise like a _peach_.” She slipped a finger under one of his arm’s straps, tugging on it before letting it snap back against the purple bruise the constant weight of his arm had worn into his skin. Rhys gave a yelp, flinching backwards further against Jack.

     “Ow! What the hell?” Rhys cried, shooting her an affronted look. Nisha let out a raucous laugh.

     “Don't pout, I hurt you ‘cuz I like you.” she singsonged. “Anyway, skin like that was _made_ to be marked up.” She said, tossing the remainder of her drink down her throat. She paused, perking up and shooting Rhys a calculating look.

     She leaned forward suddenly, pointing a sharp finger in his face.

     “You know what you should do?” she asked, eyes flashing. “You should get a tattoo. Jack does tattoos, don't you Jack?” Her eyes glanced over to him, something sly in her liquid gaze.

     Jack’s clawed thumb stopped in its movement against Rhys’s thigh. Rhys’s breath caught in his throat. He felt trapped in the moment, waiting anxiously for Jack’s reaction. Jack’s free hand moved to lift his drink steadily to his mouth, taking a long sip. His thumb resumed it’s movement against Rhys’s skin.

     “Sure, I do tattoos. What do you say, kiddo? You want a tattoo? Wanna be a _real_ sailor.”

     “What, I don’t know.” Rhys laughed out awkwardly. “I guess I might, but I don’t even know what I would get.” He shifted in his seat, acutely aware of all of his exposed skin under the scrutiny of the older sailors.

     Jack gave a shrug besides him, the picture of nonchalance.

     “Don’t hurt yourself trying to think something up all at once now. The offer stands. Just think about it.”  

\--------

     Rhys thought about it.

     Rhys couldn’t _stop_ thinking about it. He thought about it while he swept, while he helped cook.He thought about it clinging tight to his rope ladder and scraping barnacles off the side of the ship. Rhys barely heard a word Fiona said to him at lunch. He had long since learned how to fake listening, to smile and nod and hum at the appropriate times to convince the other party that he was engaged. He pretended to listen at his meeting with Captain Athena later that night, as she recounted how their progress was going on their path to the vault. He sat in the plush velvet chairs in her quarters, watching the captain gesture to the maps spread out across her desk, but in his mind he was still sitting on a crate in Jack’s makeshift bedroom, feeling his body warmth pressed tight against his side and the insistent drag of a clawed finger against his thigh. He remembered the sharp look in Jack’s eyes, something Rhys couldn’t quite place in his gaze, and the way his movements had stopped as he mulled the idea over.

     A tattoo.

     It’s not like he had never considered the possibility before. That would be close to impossible with all the time he had spent around sailors growing up. Only now was the first time the thought had seemed like it might become a reality. He thought about what it would mean getting a tattoo on this voyage, what it would mean getting a tattoo from _Jack_.

     Rhys chewed his lip, and shifted restless in his hammock until the exhaustion of a long day’s labor dragged him into unconsciousness.

\--------

     The next day after dinner, Jack brought Rhys up to the crows nest and taught him how to draw out star charts. 

     Rhys scrambled up the shrouds, pack bouncing on his back as he climbed. He hoisted himself up on the topmost yard, lifting himself the last bit to crow’s nest. Jack hopped in next to him, crowding close in the tight space.  

      “Ok kiddo give it here,” he said, yanking at Rhys’s pack impatiently as Rhys struggled to keep the strap from getting jammed in his arm.

      “Ok, ok, Give me a sec!” he protested. 

      From the pack Jack pulled a broad flat baking sheet to be used as a surface, along with paper, a pencil, a knife for sharpening, clamps, a compass, and a collapsible telescope. He clamped the paper to the baking sheet, positioning his items around him as he turned to face Rhys.

      “Alright. So we’re in an uncharted chunk of space, which means if we want maps, we’re going to have to make them ourselves. Here, look.” 

      Rhys let the anxious noise that had been plaguing his mind wash away, allowing himself be taken in by the cadence of Jack’s theatric explanations, the movement of his deft hands. The wind whipped at them, stinging at Rhy’s face. It snatched at their words, making them lean their heads in close against the howling. From below, the crew moving about the deck looked so small and far away. And all around them, Jack gestured to the millions of glimmering stars. 

     It felt....intimate, in a way that Rhys didn’t fully want to acknowledge, as Jack closed his big warm palm over Rhys’s hand, guiding him as he traced the shape of the compass. Rhys was glad for the cold wind excusing the way his cheeks stung red. He felt like a bubble machine had gone off inside of him, filling his gut with a fluttering fizzing feeling. With all the expanse of space around them, despite even everything else that had been going on, Rhys felt his gaze inextricably be pulled to Jack. He was being drawn in by an altogether different kind of gravity, defenseless to Jack’s magnetic personality. Being around him so much, he sometimes forgot even the point of this trip, unable to look past the slow grind of the day to day. Rhys woke early to start on breakfast and stayed late after dinner cleaning up. And all that time the only other living soul he would see was Jack. 

     He watched Jack work, squinting in concentration as he mapped out their place in the universe. He liked the way his sharply arched brows would pinch together, the way the very tip of his tongue would poke out as he trapped it between his teeth. 

     He was caught, drawn helplessly into Jack’s orbit.   

     He made up his mind.    


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter contains attempted sexual assault. proceed with caution.

     Jack was whistling when Rhys walked into the kitchen, a jaunty playful tune like the kind the teenage girls at the Inn liked to play on their radio.  Buttstalion flitted about his head, giving a jolly dancing trot to the beat of the music. Rhys tried to bite back a grin. Leave it to Jack to defy all expectations of what a sailor was supposed to be. 

     He’d broken down and put away all the tables in the mess. The sweeping and mopping had been done. Jack had finished the dishes while he was away and it looked like he was just finishing up wiping down the counters as well.

     “Hey,” Rhys called out, from his place perched awkwardly in the doorway. Jack’s whistling cut out as he spun on his heels to face Rhys.  He crossed his arms, leaning casually against the counter behind him with a grin.

     “Hey kiddo, you all finished up back there? Wasn’t too complicated for you?” He stretched, shoulders popping as his arms rose over his head. “You going to stand there like a weirdo all day or are you going to get on with…” he spun a hand vaguely, “whatever.” 

     Rhys’s hand brushed against the folded scrap of paper in his pocket as he stepped into the room. He thrust it out towards Jack. 

     “Here, I was….I’d been thinking about what you said. About the tattoo. I think I know what I want.” It had taken Rhys an eternity to to settle on a design. He’d spent half the previous night hunched over a pile of abandoned designs, and all morning sick with nerves over Jack’s opinion. 

     The design he settled on was simple: two concentric circles with a period representing the moon’s orbit floating besides it. Rhys stared dutiful at his shoes as Jack leaned forward to look at it, giving a low whistle. 

     “Sleek, I like it. Yeah I can do that for you, kiddo.” He tossed the rag he had been using back against the counter, grabbing a bottle of brandy from the locked cabinet before motioning to the storeroom with a nod. “Come on then. We’re done for the day.” 

     Jack lead him back to his small room. He moved over to his dresser, crouching down to pull a small wooden box from beneath it. He set the box and Brandy down on his makeshift table and removed the lid from both. The box was lined with a clean white handkerchief on which sat various small instruments and colorful pots of Chinese ink. 

     “Just black I’m guessing?” said Jack, slowly taking his instruments from the box. He looked across the table at Rhys, leaning forward on his elbows as he twirled a long thin object in his hands. It looked a bit like a pen, only instead of the usual nib, the tip was covered in a tightly bound group of needles. He eyed it warrily, swallowing against the lump in his throat. Jack gave a mean chuckle, “Not backing out on me now are you?” Rhys shook his head. 

     “N-no! I-” he took a steadying breath, “I want it.” His hand moved to rest against his neck, over his racing pulse. “Here.” 

     “It’s gunna hurt you know. A lot. You think you can handle it?” 

     “I said yes already!” 

     “Ooh, testy.” He waggled his eyebrows at Rhys, his gaze intent. “Alright then, let's get this show on the road already.” 

     Jack took a soft pencil, copying the design onto Rhys’s neck. He swiped the pillow from his hammock, laying a towel across it and dropping it into his lap. He patted at it invitingly. “Gunna need you over here cupcake.” 

     Rhys moved across the room as if in a dream, taking a large gulp of borandy before carefully laying his head down between Jack’s crossed legs. It felt strange, viewing Jack from bellow like this. Jack gazed at him intently, slipping one hand under his neck for support. He gripped him so the skin of his neck pulled tight, careful of his sharp claws. 

     He spit into one of the dark pots of pigment, stirring it into the desired consistency. Rhys closed his eyes hard and willed himself not to flinch as the sharp needles clicked against the edge of the pot. 

     “Ready, kiddo? There’s no going back after this you know.”

     “Mm hum,” Rhys managed to hum out, not trusting his voice. Jack didn’t give him any more warning after that, the needles pressing in to push the ink beneath his flesh. 

     He hadn’t been kidding, each press of the needles into flesh sent jolts of pain shooting down Rhys’s spine. Rhys gripped tight to Jack’s leg and tried to brace against the hurt, a thin sheet of sweat breaking out across his body. Jack was insistent, hunched over him he pushed the ink beneath pale skin again and again, pausing only to wipe at his neck with the towel when the welling blood kept him from seeing his own work as Rhys gasped and moaned beneath him. Jack gave a breathless chuckle.

     “If you’re going to be making sounds like that I’m going to get distracted.” he teased. But Rhys could barely hear him past the pain. His head swam, words passing over him like waves viewed from below. He could catch the cadence of Jack’s voice and nothing more. “You can do this cupcake, just hold tight.”

     Poke poke poke, wipe repeat. Poke poke poke, wipe repeat. It seemed to go on endlessly as the night churned on, the needle coming again again until the pain blended into itself, until his neck seemed to throb with a pulsing agony. Jack’s claws were five bright point of contact against his skin. Like a far off beacon in the night, Rhys grounded himself to them, concentrating on the feeling of Jack’s firm grip instead of the stabbing pain. He felt himself slipping into a strange space in his mind, almost like floating, as he felt his senses be overwhelmed with the sensation. 

     He reminded himself that he wanted this, that he wanted it from  _ Jack _ . In his half delirious state he could even admit that it felt fitting, that he would be the one to mark Rhys, pressing into his skin a permanent reminder of this voyage and thus of their time spent together and all the things Jack had taught him. An orbit, a moon caught helplessly in the gravity of it’s ringed planet. It felt like fate, like everything in Rhys’s life had been leading him toward this voyage and Jack. 

     Rhys didn’t know how long it took, except that it was long enough for his legs to cramp from the strain of keeping himself still for so long, but eventually, blessedly, it did end. Jack wiped at his neck, pouring a splash of stinging brandy over the fresh mark before he wiped it clean and wrapped the smarting flesh with a bandage. His palm sat like a warm compress against the aching flesh.  

     Rhys’s vision swam with unshed tears, blurring his view of Jack’s face as he turned to gaze back up at him. His own eyes had gone wide, pupils dilated and head spinning as he sat up too fast and slipped off his crate, nearly braining himself on the edge of the table.

     “Watch out idiot! Don’t go killing yourself when I just went through all the trouble of putting the mark on you.” 

     “Sorry, sorry.” Rhys croaked, voice rough after the long session. 

     “You’re going to want to keep that clean.” Keep it covered for the night and wash it first thing in the morning. I don’t need you getting an infection and dying on me.” Rhys tried to nod before flinching back against the shooting pain it sent up his neck. “You look like shit. Go get some sleep already, it’s late.” Rhys could agree with that readily enough. He acquiesced, rubbing at his tired eyes. 

     “Thanks Jack, I’ll see you in the morning,” he yawned out.

     Something in him didn’t want to leave yet. There was an odd tension in the room, a brightness in Jack’s eyes that Rhys dismissed as his own sleep addled imagination. He raised himself slowly, parting the curtain to slip back out through the doorway, but something made him paused. He turned to find Jack still watching him, his breathing slow but heavy. 

     “Goodnight Jack,” he called back quietly.

     “Night kiddo.” 

     The crews quarters were still when he got back, everyone asleep by now save for the few unlucky souls who had been set on watch. Wilhelm’s rumbling snore droned on as always, almost white noise by now to Rhys from the weeks spent sleeping beneath him. Rhys settled back against his own pillow, missing the smell of Jack that had drifted up from his pillow even past the towel and the sharp iron smell of blood. His fingers brushed against the gauze on his neck. 

     He’d really done it, a tattoo. He’d sat through hours of torment so Jack could press a permanent mark into his very body, where no one could ever take it from him again. This voyage was real, this experience his.

     This was his.     

\--------

     The week that followed had been good, simple. He worked alongside Jack as usual, in a rhythm he had long since gotten used to. He’d see Fiona at lunch, and most nights ended with him and Jack spending time with Wilhelmina and Nisha, and Rhys ignoring the knowing looks the woman shoot the two of them. 

     He should have know there was no way for the peace to last for long.

     He was inside sleeping when it happened, trying to catch a midday nap in the space between lunch and dinner. The first blast sent the ship rocking and knocked him out of his hammock. Rhys snapped awake, heart thudding and delirious. He pulled his shoes and and shot out towards the deck, moving fast enough to reach the stairway just as the second blast hit them and sent him careening towards the wall. 

     “What's going on!?” He called frantically, watching the crew rush around the deck. He grabbed a passing Fiona by the elbow. “Fiona, what happened.” 

     Fiona looked significantly shaken, face pale and pinched in worry. 

     “It's the star Tedior. It’s, It’s gone  _ supernova _ !” Rhys’s face went pale with worry as he spun around, looking across the deck at the bright churning mess of fire that sent waves of heat blasting out to rock the ship. 

     “Evasive maneuvers!” Athena’s sharp voice cut through the chaos. “All hands on deck! Secure the sails! Everybody secure your lifelines!”

     Rhys scrambled up the shrouds, heart pounding. The sails felt heavier than even as he hoisted them up, his thighs gripping tight to the yards at the ship turned quickly, trying to pull itself free from the collapsing star’s range. His mind was hyper focused, tying the sails down securely before dropping back down to the deck. His echo eye whirred, zooming in on the furious belching star. 

     But something was still wrong. The ship had made an about face, turning away from the havoc but they weren't move fast enough, and then they weren't moving at all, ship slowly slipping backwards towards the star’s gravity. 

     “The star, it's devolving into a black hole!”

     “Damn it!” Athena cursed, “We need to get out of its range.” Another belch of energy rushed up against the back of the ship, knocking them off their balance. “Damn these waves, they’re so deucedly erratic!” 

     Rhys’s echo eye spun in his head, running calculations fast than any regular person would be able. 

     “Captain! They’re not erratic, there's a pattern, and the largest one is coming in 4 minutes and thirty six seconds!” 

     A look of realization came across Captain Athena’s face as she looked at the navigation bay. 

     “That’s it!” She called out. We can ride that wave out of the black whole’s orbit!” A look of determination crossed her face. Just as the last man hopped down from the mast the captain spun around. “Release all sails!” she shouted out over the chaos. 

     The crew groaned, but there was no time to question her orders. The scrambled back up the shrouds to loosen the sails. 

     Rhys’s hand slipped, palms sweaty as he tried to tug his own rope free. Jack materialized besides him, helping to tug at the knot. They got it free, but there was hardly enough time for them to get back down to the deck. 

     “Here! hold on to the mast!” he called out as they shuffled down the yard. Rhys gripped tight to it, heart pounding, as Jack covered his body with his own and pressed the both close against the large beam. 

     The wave came, crashing over them with a blinding light that had the solar cells charging to maximum capacity and allowing them to blast the ship out of range. There was a terrible drawn out moment where Rhys didn’t know if it had been enough, if they were really going to be free the black holes range. The ship’s engines worked overtime with the strain of the extra power, until the energy levels began to stabilize and it returned to its normal speed. Rhys ventured to peek past the mast. 

     They were pulling away from danger, free from the star’s pull. Rhys sighed out with relief. He crawled back down to the deck on shaking legs, stubling the last bit into Jack’s arms when his knees buckled beneath him from the stress. Jack’s hand was a steadying press against his back, his arm an anchor for Rhys to cling to. 

     He’d known there were dangers going on this trip, but somehow ‘death by black hole’ had never occurred to him. 

     The captain took a deep breath, leaning heavily against the navigation center as the adrenaline washed out of her. 

     “We’re safe.” 

     The crew lets out a wild whooping cheer, every one of the excited from their recent near death experience. 

     “That was amazing!” Rhys calls over to her, heart pounding now out of excitement instead of mortal dread “I was sure we were done for.” The captain gave a curt nod. 

     “I wouldn’t have been able to do it without your calculations. Looks like we’d all be dead without that echo eye of yours. Guess you’ve proven yourself an asset after all” She gave Rhys a wry grin, the first he’d seen on her face the whole voyage. Rhys felt more than saw all the eyes of the crew move to watch him. Jack clapped him proudly on the shoulder. “Thanks for that. Mr. Handson, break out the rum. I think we could all use a celebration.”

     The cheering came again, louder this time. The crew members closest to Rhys turned to offer him thanks, pulling him into companionable one armed hugs and patting at his back. From halfway across the ship he spotted Fiona’s manic grin, her shaky thumbs up. Rhys let his legs finally, finally, gave out under him to let him sit back against the deck, body trembling from all the excitement. He’d did it, they’d survived.

\--------

     Rhys was drunk. Like,  _ super _ drunk. Drunkest that he’d ever been kind of drunk, which was saying something, considering that he’d been raised in a tavern. 

     Half the crew had wanted to share a drink with him congratulating him and thanking him for his quick thinking. Not once had he had to get up for a refill. Instead he’d let the swirling mass of faces come and shower him with praise, refilling his cup and clinking their glasses together. He felt more drunk from the attention than anything else, never having gotten quite so much of it at once.

     Well, maybe not more drunk. It was certainly a part of it. Rhys would say it was 50/50. Ok, maybe 60/40 on the booze side. Definitely around that. Maybe. 

     Anyway. 

     Rhys leaned heavily against Jack’s side at their usual corner table in the mess, watching Nisha gesture wildly. The combination of the earlier excitement and the free flowing booze had the crew rippling with energy, and that energy had led to the sailors competing to tell their wildest sailing stories. Which had devolved inevitably into retelling of the wildest stories their ever  _ heard _ . 

     So of course the pirate tales had started to come out. 

     Rhys loved pirate tales he thought idly, letting out a small hum and leaning his swimming head against Jack’s shoulder. Across the table Nisha gesture wildly, spinning the tale of the dreaded Hyperion pirate crew that had been laying waste to Atlas’s most valuable transport ships in recent years. 

     It was said that they were captained by the vicious and charismatic Handsome Jack, that they were merciless, laying waste to any who stood in their path. That they left no survivors save those they specifically left alive to spread word of their infamous plunders.

     “I hear his first mate is a woman, as deadly as she is beautiful” Nisha purred out. “She’s Handsome Jack’s right hand, an invaluable asset in battle.” Her eyebrow quirked, playful smile playing across her lips. “What do you think of  _ that,  _ Mr.  _ Handson. _ ” Jack chuckled, lifting leaning casually across the back of his seat. 

     “I can believe it. Only the best crew for the best captain that's ever lived.” he called back with a grin. 

     “Thatsh, that- that's a bold claim.” Rhys managed to slur our, grinning up at Jack from his crooked vantage. “What about Captain Traveler?” 

     “That fool’s dead. The story isn't over yet for Hyperion and Handsome Jack. Not even close, kiddo.” he booped at Rhys’s blushing nose. “And he’s certainly the prettier of the two. I heard Handsome Jack has an eight pack. I heard Handsome Jack is fucking  _ shredded _ .” Nisha gave a whooping laugh, slapping her drink on the table. “What? You got something to say Nish?” 

     Rhys let himself drift in his cloudy headspace, happy enough to just watch the surging bodies about the room and the fluid motion of Jack’s arms. 

     Hmm. Handsome Jack, Jack Handson. That was a funny coincidence. Rhys’s drunk mind slip past the idea, unable to hold on to past the booze singing in his veins. 

     “Rhys!” a voice called out. He raised his head just in time to see Fiona stumbling over to him, wide grin spread across her flushed face. “What, now that you’re a celebrity for the night you don't have time for your old friends?” she asked, tugging at his arm. “Come on. Captain wants to have a drink with you.” 

     “Ok!” Rhys piped up cheerfully hefting himself unsteadily onto his feet. He nearly fell right back down on his ass, Jack’s arm shooting out to press at his lower back and steady him. 

     “You ok there champ?” he asked, glancing between him and Fiona. Rhys gripped tight to her arms for balance, steadying himself. “You sure you should be standing?” 

     “Yep!” Rhys called back cheerfully, letting his mouth pop on the ‘P’ sound. “I'm- I’m jusht going to be a- a minute. I’ll be back!” he said stumbling away from the table to wherever it was Fiona was leading him. 

     The captain stood at the head of the room, glass in hand as she looked over her crew with pride. He gaze flicked over to his wobbly approach. 

     “Rhys. Good work out there again. I was going to offer you a drink, but it looks to me like you might be good on that front.” Rhys gave a giggle, smiling wide at her. 

     “I think you might be right about that.” The captain shook her head, giving him a tiny private smile. 

     “A symbolic toast then? With water?” she asked, already nodding at a passing sailor to retrieve it. 

     “Yeah, water.  I think, I think that might be a good idea.” The sailor returned with a cold glass of ice water, pressing it into Rhys’s hand with a smiling nod. Rhys and Athena clicked their glasses together, each of them tossing back their drinks at once. Rhys gave a burp, covering his mouth with his hand and giving a giggle. “Oops, sorry. ‘ts probably rude to burp in front of the captain.” he laughed out. Athena merely shook her head at him. 

     “You’ve spent quite a lot of time with our cook now haven't you? You seem to be getting along better with the crew.” she ventured vaguely, casting him a sidelong glance. “How do you find him?” 

     “I like him!” Rhys beamed at her. “Jack is nice! Well, maybe not nice, but I’ve learned a lot from him! And his scary friends aren't so bad.” 

     “Hmmm,” the captain pressed out. “Alright then. Do keep an eye out for anything strange. There's still something that doesn't feel quite bad about all this.”

     “I dunno. I was nervous too, but maybe that's just because it all seems too good to be true?” He pondered. 

     Black hole notwithstanding, The voyage had gone surprisingly smoothly so far. For a while Rhys had been anxious, always waiting for the other shoe to drop. But that was before he had let himself fall into the flow of the routine. And his mind was too busy being occupied with thoughts of Jack lately to concern himself with Paranoia. 

     “Maybe so.” Athena hummed. “Anyway, get back to the celebrations then. You’ve earned it.” she said, waving him away. Rhys gave her a loose limbed salute. 

     “Aye aye Captain!” 

     He turned back towards the room. Fiona had wandered away for more revalrie of her own. The water had refreshed him. He felt great, energized by the smiling faces that flashed at him as he crossed the room, making his way back towards Jack. 

     His vision swam, dizzy, blurred enough that he didn’t understand what he was looking at for a moment. Nisha’s seat was empty. Instead she sat in Jack’s lap, her fingers tight in his hair, their mouths pressed together. 

     His gut gave a sick lurch, stomach sinking to his feet. He suddenly felt the urge to vomit rising in his throat. He needed air. 

     Rhys pushed himself through the crowd. The spinning room pressed in on him, the raucous crowd making him feel claustrophobic instead of comforted this time.

     The cold air stung at his face as he burst forth onto the deck. He leaned over the railing, panting as he gazed out at the cold expanse of space. A shudder ripped through his body and he leaned his head forward, heaving. The alcohol burned on the way back out his throat. 

     Stupid. Rhys didn’t even know why he was getting so upset. 

     Jack and Nisha were both beautiful and charismatic, they moved with the same predatory gate. They look what they wanted, flirted casually and with the confidence of those who knew they wouldn't ever be rejected. They were cocky, but with the substance to back it up. They didn’t need to prove themselves anymore, they already had. It only made sense that they would be drawn to each other. 

     Rhys was just a cabin boy. Just another nobody orphan from some backwater planet. One day wouldn't change that. 

     Buttstalion must have seen him leave the mess hall, following him out onto the deck. The purple blob chirped and nuzzled at him, trying to lift him out of his foul mood. Rhys waved at her vaguely, groaning. 

     “Not now Buttstalion.” he warbled out, ducking his head to cough and vomit over the deck again until his stomach began to settle. He spit into the blackness of space, watching the strange way it adhered to the artificial gravity before moving off to drift into weightlessness. He groaned, lifting his head and wiping at his mouth with his sleeve. Buttstalion hovered about him. The small morph started shifting into different funny faces when Rhys looked up at her trying to cheer him up. 

     Rhys gave a hollow chuckle. It worked a bit, he supposed. His head felt clearer after vomiting, the ship back to rocking only the regular amount. 

     Rhys sighed, pushing himself off of the railing. This pitty party was over. What Jack did was none of his business.

     He was here for the vault, he reminded himself. They would reach it soon, and  _ then _ Rhys wouldn’t be a nobody. He’d finally be able to prove himself, to make all of his dreams come true. And nothing that Valory or Jack or  _ anyone else  _ said would be able to change that. 

     He made his way back down the stairs, planning on find Fiona and have a good bitch sesh like they used to have back home. 

     And bumped into someone in the hallway. He stumbled, already starting to apologize as a hand gripped tight to his upper arm, shoving him against the wall. 

     “What the hell!” he shouted, heart beating hard in his chest. He looked up at his assailant. 

     It was the same mean face sailor from before, the one who had harassed him on the deck, way back when the voyage had first started. 

     Rhys had been avoiding him since then. He didn’t like the way he looked at him, like it was  _ Rhys’s _ fault he had gone looking for a fight and ended up getting his ass kicked. He would watch Rhys from across the mess, glaring at him. Rhys was glad, sometimes, for the way Wilhelm’s hulking frame would block Rhys from view in the crew’s quarters, giving him some assurance of his safety while he slept at night. 

     His cankerous face leaned close, his breath reeking of alcohol. Rhys’s stomach rebelled, his nausea returning at the sharp scent. He tried to lean away, but he had nowhere to go with the wall at his back. His head knocked against it with a thunk, trying to get as much space between between them as possible. 

     “I’ve been looking for you  _ cabin boy.”  _ The sailor leard at him, voice dripping with malice. He pressed close into his space. “I wanted to offer you my congratulations.” His free arm swung close to Rhy's face brandishing a mostly empty bottle of alcohol. He gave it a shake. “Here, have some.” 

     “I-I think I’ve had enough actually.” he pressed out, trying to slip free from the man’s grasp. His grip and Rhys’s arm tightened, strong enough to leave a bruise. He gave him a rough shake, lips pulling back over crooked yellow teeth in a snarl. 

     “Wrong answer.” he hissed. Rhys felt unbalanced now his legs trembling. He wished he hadn't had so much to drink earlier. He wished he hadn't been a baby and run off on his own. He tried to wedge his metal arm between their bodies, pushing at the man’s chest.

     “Let go of me already!” He shouted, stumbling off balance as he tried to wrench himself free. 

     “Not this time pretty boy,” the man growled. The bottle of alcohol fell to the floor, rolling down the hall as groping hands tugged his shirt free from his pants and yanked at his belt. Rhys gasped, his efforts to break free redoubling. The man mashed his blubberous mouth against Rhys’s, muffling his shout. 

     He could feel the panic rising in him. The crew was all packed tight and drunk in the mess. No one would hear him over the sounds of the celebration. This couldn’t be happening. He opened his mouth, biting down  _ hard _ on the man’s lip until his mouth started to fill with the taste of blood. 

     The man gave a confused shout, his tight grip on Rhys’s arm finally abatting as he flailed, giving Rhys the opportunity to slip free. Rhys shoved his way past him, stumbling over his feet in his drunkenness and crashing to the ground. 

     Thee man was on him again in a moment, red faced and furious. Rhys could see where his bite wound spilled blood. It dripped down on top of him. 

     “You little  _ shit,”  _ the man howled, blood and spittle alike flying. Rhys screwed his eyes shut against the spray, bracing for a blow that never came. 

     Suddenly the man was wrenched off him. Rhys’s eyes flew open, gasping at the site above him and scrambling back against the wall to pull himself off of his feet. 

     “Jack!” 

     If the other sailor had looked mad, Jack looked _ livid _ . His bright eyes shone, incandescent with rage. Rhys could see the muscles working in his clenched jaw as he snarled, gripping the sailor by the hair to slam his face against the wall. The man’s nose gave way with a resounding  _ crack _ , blood spilling forth. He gave a confused gurgle, arms waving to try to swipe at an enemy he hadn’t even seen come up behind him. 

     “You friggin’ morons never  _ listen.  _ How many times doI have to keep teaching you this lesson?” He hissed past clenched teeth. “The kid is  _ mine. _ ” 

     Rhys had never seen so much of the whites of someone's eyes at once before. The sailor trembled, his slick bloody hands unable to find purchase on Jack arms. His short nails tried to scrape at him, struggling with raw animal fear. 

     He was going to die, Rhys realized. Jack was going to  _ kill him  _ for touching Rhys. The thought should have scared Rhys, and it did, but maybe not as much as it ought to. 

     The man seemed to have noticed it too, wailing and struggling to fight Jack off with all he had. Jack’s knee hiked up to slam once, twice, into the man’s gut before he dropped him, letting him curl tight on the floor. He tried to crawl away, body slumped over the steps leading to the deck as Jack bent down to grab at the bottle he had dropped, smashing it against the wall. “I don't know why you would think you could ever get away with it.” Jack called out with a manic laugh, bloodlust dancing in his eyes. “You should know by now that I don't  _ appreciate  _ people messing with what’s  _ mine.”  _

     Jack hefted him up by the back of his shirt, slamming him against the doorway before sinking the jagged edge of the glass bottle into his stomach and  _ twisting. _ The man gave a high pitched sound like a balloon deflating.  

     Rhys pushed himself from the wall, gripping tight to the railing as he climbed the first few steps to watch Jack walk him backwards across the deck and push the sailor overboard with a harsh shove. He watch, paralyzed, as Jack stood there for a moment, arms planted firmly against the railing as his shoulders heaved with each of the harsh panting breaths he took. Eventually he composed himself, running a bloody hand through his hair. He grabbed at a thin faced sailor who had been on watch, and had seen the last of the ordeal go down without saying a word. “Clean this up.” he growled, pointing at the trail of blood across the deck that ran into the hallway. “Keep it quiet.” 

     Buttstalion rubbed at Rhys’s cheek, whimpering. Rhys’s wide eyes flashed back at her, noticing her previous absence for the first time. In his defense he had been...occupied. 

     A gentle hand landed at his shoulder, causing Rhys to jump nearly out of his skin. It was Jack, Rhys hadn’t heard him walk back over the pounding in his own ears. The crazed look had faded from his eyes, so that when he looked past all the tacky blood that was rapidly drying against his skin, Rhys could recognize the person he was looking at. 

     “We can't keep meeting like this,” he chuckled without humor. “You ok kiddo? You’re shaking like a leaf.” 

     He was, Rhys noticed. His body shivered hard enough that it rattled his teeth and his breathing came in fitful rattelling gasps. Rhys hummed, forcing himself to nod. He didn’t trust his voice at the moment, wasn’t sure if he could make words come even if he tried. 

     He was sober at least, Rhys realized with a delirious flash of humor. The adrenaline had flushed all traces of drunkness out of Rhys’s body so that only the first throbs of his upcoming hangover remained. Rhys was glad that he had thrown up already, certain that if his stomach wasn't already completely empty he would do it now. He screwed his eyes tight and let himself bury his face in the juncture of Jack’s neck.

     The older man’s broad palm rubbed up and down Rhy’s back, soothing him. And probably getting blood all over his shirt. Not that it mattered. These clothes were all ruined already. Rhys was determined to burn them. 

     “Come on kiddo, let's get you out of here already. We need to get you cleaned up and in bed.” Rhys nodded, a small sound of agreement rising up from his dry throat. 

     “Ok.” he managed to respond, willing his legs to work again. “Ok.”

\--------

     Later, in the crew’s  quarters, Rhys couldn't sleep. Unsurprisingly. 

     Even now after the warm bath Jack had run for him he couldn't suppress the anxious tremors that wracked his body. 

     It was fine, he was safe now. But Rhys couldn't stop thinking about what might have happened if things had gone differently, if Buttstalion hadn't followed him out onto the deck, if she hadn't thought to run and get Jack. 

     He tried to screw his eyes shut against the thought. The sound of the snoring sailors in their hammocks felt deafening. Even Wilhelm’s hulking form couldn't keep Rhys from feeling exposed. 

     Jack’s blood streaked face flashed in Rhys’s mind. He’d killed a man. Easily, without even a second though. The man had never even seen him coming, had probably hardly had time to understand what was happening before Jack had ended his life. Not that he hadn’t deserved it. Rhys couldn't really say that he was sorry he was dead, but the way it had happened, the fact that it had happened so  _ fast.  _

     Goosebumps sprung up across Rhy’s skin. He had known for a while now that Jack was dangerous. He resorted to violence nearly as a first response. His sharp teeth, his claws, even his gait, everything about Jack seemed to scream  _ predator.  _ Rhys  _ knew _ this in an intellectual sense. 

     But Jack had never snapped like that in front of him before, had never seemed like he’d so casually be able to end a life. 

     Rhys shouldn’t like it. It was wrong, he knew, to dismiss it just because Jack was charismatic. Or because he felt that they had come to know each other quite well over the past few weeks onboard The Caravan. 

     He could see now why Athena wouldn't trust him, why she had tried to warn Rhys to keep an eye out for anything strange. He knew that telling her about the incident would be the right thing to do. 

     A man had  _ died _ . A bad man, to be sure, but a member of their crew no less. Jack could have just fought him off, could have told the captain about it and had him confined to the brig for the remainder of the journey. 

     But he hadn't. 

     Rhys tossed restlessly in his hammock, holding himself tight. Jack was  _ dangerous _ , quick to anger. 

     So why was Rhys desperate to go to him now? 

     Rhys wouldn't tell Captain Athena about what had happened tonight, he decided. He slipped quietly out from underneath Wilhelm, tiptoeing past the rows of drunken snoring sailors. 

     The hallways felt too quiet this late. Rhys felt like a thief. Heart pounding, he couldn't forget what had happened just a few hours earlier, though it felt like a lifetime, the last time Rhys had wandered the hallways alone. His footsteps sped as he approached the familiar sight of the galley’s doorway. 

     He pushed his way into the connected storeroom, pausing before the curtain that partitioned off Jack’s space from the rest of the room. Rhys chewed on his lip, suddenly doubting himself. 

     Jack was probably already sleeping. What if he didn’t want Rhys here? What if he only ended up making Jack annoyed? 

     A banging sound went off somewhere in the ship, making Rhys’s mind up for him as he jumped and scampered into the cramped space. 

     Jack lay in his hammock, curled tight. Buttstalion lay on his head, sleeping peacefully with a whistling little snore. It painted quite the adorable picture, a sharp contrast to the earlier show of violence he had witnessed. 

     “What d’ ya need, cupcake?” Jack’s mumbled out, voice thick with sleep. Rhys gave a flinch. One of Jack’s eyes had squinted open to peer at him. He fiddled with his hands, mouth working open and closed as he tried to find the proper words. 

     “Well, um…” Rhys folded his arms, holding himself against the tremors that would still wrack through his body. Jack’s gaze on him was steady, patient. 

     “Can't sleep?” he asked. Rhys shook his head minutely. 

     “No.” 

     Jack gave a sigh, shifting. His arm opened up in invitation. 

     “Alright, get in here already then. Unless you’re just planning to sleep on the floor.” Rhys’s breath left him in a grateful huff. 

     “Thanks,” he said, voice small. He unlatched the straps of his arm carefully, disconnecting it and setting it down on the table before swinging himself into the hammock. Gravity rolling him towards the dip in the center where Jack lay. He shifted, tension draining from his shoulders at long last as Jack draped an arm across his middle and hooked his chin over the top of the younger man’s head. The press of his hot skin was a comfort, like the dryer fresh sheets he remembered from the very earliest parts of his childhood, when Rhys had still had a mother to tuck him in. 

     Jack was dangerous, Rhys knew. But here, with the man curled tight around him and the scent of his pillow in Rhys’s nose-

     He felt safe. 

\--------

     They woke early the next morning to make breakfast, same as always. Neither of them mentioning the events of the previous night. When it came time for him to eat his own breakfast, he kept his head down, shoveling oatmeal and dried fruit leather into his mouth at an even pace. 

     Rumor was that there had been an accident last night. It wasn't completely unexpected with the way everyone had been drinking. 

     Rumor was that a sailor had gotten too drunk and decided to walk a tightrope across the railings on the deck. Rumor was that his balance hadn't been quite as good as he thought. 

     Rhys didn't bother to correct them.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) sex happens

     Rhys’s hand moved compulsively to the dark mark on his neck. Over the past few weeks the sharp sting of the initial tattooing had faded into an oozing soreness, until that too had fallen away to the an ever present dull throb.

     That had been before the flaking set in. Now, it itched like ten thousand fire ants had decided to plant poison ivy on his neck. It clawed persistently at the edge of his perception throughout the day, reminding him of it’s existence. It drew him back into the past, into the memory of Jack’s steadying touch, of the sharp press of the needle in his skin and the tension in Jack’s small room.

     His wet palm rubbed against the irritated flesh distractedly as he mopped excess water off the clean dishes Jack piled by his side.

     “Hey,” Rhys snapped out of his musing, flinching as fingers closed around his wrist, tugging his hand away from the peeling skin. “Quit messing with that dumb dumb. You’re only going to make it worse.”

     Rhys shot him a pout, pulling his hand free and going back to drying the dishes in earnest.

     “Ugh, I can’t help it. You told me it was going to hurt, you didn't tell me it was going to start _itching.”_ he protested. Jack rolled his eyes, hip checking him nearly off his feet as Rhys gave an affronted shout.

     “Yeah yeah, you’ll live.”

     Rhys stuck his tongue out at him, kicking lightly at his ankles. He ducked away from Jack’s reach before he could retaliate, hefting a large pile of dry plates into his arms with a grunt. He tried to shift most of their weight onto his stronger metal arm, shuffling around Jack towards the locked cupboard where they were stored.

     “You need some help there cupcake?” Jack asked, smirking at him from across the kitchen. Rhys huffed, blowing at a loose strand of hair that had fallen in front of his eyes. He balanced the tall stack against his chest, working the cupboard open with his free hand.

     “I’m a big boy, I think I can handle putting some dishes away on my own. I’ve got it.” Rhys craned his head around the stack of plates, looking for a free shelf to store them. He adjusted his grip on the stack, struggling to lift them into the free upper shelf. The stack gave a threatening wobble in his arms.

     "Do you, champ? Do you really?"

     Sliding the stack into place, Rhys turned and gave Jack a sideways glance through squinting eyes. He shook his head as he moved back to his place by the sink, ignoring Jack’s teasing grin.

     “You're a jerk,” Rhys shot back with roll of his eyes.

     “Aww, come on kitten don’t be sour.” Jack teased, leaning close into Rhy’s space.

     And into his splashing range.

     Rhys slapped at the full sink, sending a wave of warm sudsy water crashing towards Jack. The older man gave a shout, trying to finch away. He wasn't fast enough, water catching at his hip.

     “You little shit!” Jack reached back, trying to slap the water over at Rhys, but he was too fast. Rhys laughed and danced away from Jacks range. “Get back here so I can drown you in the sink.” he growled out, unable to suppress his growing grin.

     “No way!”

     Jack moved fast, grabbing at the hose by the sink before Rhys had time to react. Rhys stumbled backward, trapped by the kitchen island as he tried to raise his arms against the jet of warm water with a shrieking laugh.

     “Oh my god, my god stop already! You win!” He laughed out, face scrunched up tight against the spray. He was soaking wet, his hair come undone from it's usual carefully slicked back style so that strands of it dripped water on his face. Rhys lowered his arms, leaning back heavily against the island. He squinting up at Jack from beneath his lashes, panting.

     The smile drained away from his face as Jack put the hose down without a glance, snapping it into place with a click. His gaze raked down Rhys’s body like claws.

     Rhys felt his mouth go dry, suddenly aware of the white shirt he had worn that morning, the way the damp fabric clung to his body, gone see through from moisture. His panting breath echoed in the cramped space of the galley, deafening over the sudden pressing silence.

     Jack’s tongue darted out to wet his lips. His gaze locked with Rhys, liquid and hungry. Rhys felt his breath catch in his throat, stomach flipping as arousal cut through him hot as a knife wound.

     “J-Jack?” he managed to press out, voice barely above a whisper.

     Jack moved slow and panther-like, closing the space between them. His arms bracketed Rhys on either side, trapping him against the counter.

     Rhys felt as though they were perched on some precarious edge, like that first weightless moment on a solar surfer, stomach twisting waiting for the thrusters to power on. He felt like he and Jack were circling the drain, like they had been dancing around each other, around the... _whatever_ it was that had started to develop between them. It had been there for a while, at least since the tattoo. Maybe before that even, maybe since the first time on the deck when Jack had defended him, maybe since the day they met.

     Jack’s brows pinched, huffing a breath past his nose.

     “Fuck it,” he growled, crashing their lips together hard. Rhys gasped against his mouth, lips slipping open for Jack’s tongue to dart in. His heartbeat stuttered in his chest as Jack's teeth closed around his bottom lip, tugging at it as he pulled back. Jack kissed like he was angry about it, his hands moving to grip vice-like at Rhys’s hips, hoisting him up so he sat at the edge of the counter. The casual show of strength drew a reedy moan from Rhys’s throat. “Do you have any idea,” Jack panted out, “how _hard_ you’ve been making this for me?”

     Jack stepped between Rhys’s legs, pressing close until they were chest to chest. One hand rubbed up and down Rhys’s thigh, the other moving to press at his neck, drawing him into another dizzying kiss. Rhys jumped at the feel of Jack's erection pressing up against his hip.

     Jack nipped at the corner of his jaw, nudging him to reveal the pale expanse of his throat. Rhys was certain that Jack must be able to feel his thundering pulse through his palm, the way it felt like it was going to beat right out of Rhys’s chest. He felt a droplet of either water or sweat move down to his throat to pool at his collarbone, and Jack’s hungry mouth moved to follow it.

     “Oh god,” he whimpered, hips stuttering up to meet Jack’s. Jack groaned and bit at him, sucking a dark mark into the juncture of his neck and shoulder where his shirt had started to slip open, making Rhys’s thighs jump up to grip tight around him.

     He felt light-headed, breathless. His skin thrummed like it was covered with static. His body gave way easily, like water, beneath Jack’s roving hands. Somehow his arms had found their way around Jack’s neck, nails digging into his back and shoulder. He sucked in a sharp breath as Jack’s rocked up against him.

     “Jack!”

     “Easy, easy,” Jack cooed into the space between their mouths, hand petting at his hip. He pulled back just far enough to look into his eyes, licking his lips like he was trying to chase the taste of Rhys’s mouth. “You ever done this before, sugar?” Rhys’s eyes danced away from him, suddenly interested in the swirling wood grain of the floor.

     Rhys thought back to the rushed moments snatched with guests at the Inn growing up, the clumsy “experimenting” he had done with August after hours. It’s not that he’d _never_ done anything before, only it usually didn’t go very far.

     “S-sort of.”

     “Sort of? You a virgin kiddo?” Rhys’s gaze stayed locked to the floor, his face, somehow, blushing even harder than before.

     “Well, I’m half a virgin.”

     “Wha- half a virgin? What the hell does that mean?” Jack asked. Rhys’s gaze slipped away from him.

     “I mean I’ve done... _stuff,_ you know. Just not...penetration.”

     Jack leaned his forehead against Rhys’s with a sigh. “Ok, ok,” he said soothing, petting at Rhys in even calming motions. “It’s ok. We can take things slow. Can you take your shirt off for me baby? Yeah just like that.” Jack would wreck that ass eventually, but not like this, not splayed over a kitchen counter.

     He pulled back just far enough for Rhys to toss the sopping shirt across the room with a wet slap, moving back to press their lips together. His kiss was slower this time, more thorough, like he was mapping out the geography of Rhys’s mouth. His hands skated their way up his torso, brushing teasingly against his stomach, his ribs. His mouth pressed a kiss against the very center of Rhys’s tattoo, down his neck to the thick scar tissue where his flesh met the cold metal of his arm. He caught one of Rhys’s nipples between his lips, suckling at it gently. Rhys jumped and tried to arch away from the feeling. “Relax babe I’ve got you. Jack’s gunna make you feel _reeeaaaallll_ nice.”

     Rhys closed his eyes, hyper aware of the sound of Jack undoing his belt and yanking at his zipper. A broad hand pushed at his chest, urging him back against the counter. Rhys went easily, the muscles in his stomach twitching hard as one of Jack’s hand slipped into his pants while the other worked on freeing himself from his own belt and pants. He wrapped calloused fingers against Rhys’s dick and pulled it free from the confines of his underwear. Rhys had to bite his lip hard against the feeling, hissing as Jack’s hand started to pump at him slowly.

     He leveraged himself up onto his elbows, looking down his body at Jack. He squirmed at the way Jack gazed intently at Rhys’s cock, thumb brushing over the wet pink head. The older man had pulled himself free from his own pants, leaning over Rhys to press their weeping lengths together. His cock was dark and slightly curved, shorter than Rhys’s but also thicker. Rhys swallowed hard against the sight.

     “God yeah that's the stuff,” he groaned, slicking his hand with their combined precome and pumping them at a steady pace. His head bowed forward to bite and lick at Rhys’s nipple, his free hand twisting at the opposite one as he shifted on the tips of his toes to rut against him. Rhys’s hands groped uselessly at the slick surface of the island, his head falling back as he struggled to bite back his moans. “You look so pretty under me, come on baby come on” he babbled out against Rhys’s flushed and panting chest.

     Rhys’s flesh hand moved to Jack’s hair, gripping tight just for something to hold on to. Jack groaned hard in satisfaction, rewarding him with a harsh bite. Rhys couldn't keep his eyes open against the onslaught of pleasure, letting himself fall back fully against the counter. He could feel a pressure building low in his gut, bringing him closer and closer to the edge.

     “Jack, please, I-!” he panted, giving a desperate cry as Jack’s hand fell away from him. His eyes snapped open, craning his neck in time to see the way Jack dropped into a crouch. His sharp teeth gleamed in the dim light of the galley as he smiled, moving his face to hover over Rhys’s hips. His head dropped down to take Rhys into his mouth, tongue swirling around the tip. His head bobbed once, twice, sucking and-

     Rhys came with a shout.

     He lost himself for a moment, eyes closed and body loose with the afterglow. Over the sound of his own steadily evening heartbeat, he could hear Jack beating himself furiously. Jack leaned over him, sealing his mouth against Rhys and pressing the taste of his own release against the younger man’s tongue. He gave a strangled groan, jets of hot come spraying against Rhys’s trembling stomach. His free hand and moved to grip tight at Rhys’s neck, just above the tattoo he had punched into his skin.

     “Mine. Mine. You’re all mine Rhysie. Don’t forget that,” he panted out against his mouth. Rhys nodded weakly, swallowing just to feel his throat bob against the press of Jack’s fingers.

     “Well that hardly looks sanitary.”

     Rhys’s gaze snapped to where Nisha stood, arms crossed in the doorway, a sly grin on her face. He jackknifed forward, nearly slamming his forehead into Jack’s in an attempt to roll himself out of Nisha’s line of sight. His faces burned red as he scrambled for his pants.

     “What the? Nisha! Way to ruin my friggin’ after glow,” Jack groaned. Nisha merely shrugged.

     “Not my fault you don't know how to lock the door.” Her eyes locked with Rhys. “You better get cleaned up quick. Captain wants you for your weekly tea party, or whatever it is you guys do in there.”

     Rhys wiped at his sticky torso with his discarded shirt, forcing himself back into a state of calm. Of course, _now_ of all times the captain would want him.

     Jack scratched at his happy trail casually, yawning. He disappeared into the storeroom for a moment, returning with a plain brown shirt that he tossed at Rhys, smacking him in the face.

     Rhys squawked, struggling to uncrumple it and pull it on as quickly as possible. The shirt carried Jack’s warm spicy scent, Rhys noted duly as he pulled it over his head, face heating. He pointedly avoided eye contact as he slipped past her, feeling awkward under her steady teasing grin.

\--------

     “Gentlemen, we’re quickly approaching our destination.” Athena’s even commanding voice rang out. “Last week’s close call aside, this voyage has been coming along fairly smoothly, but that doesn’t mean we can relax yet. Who knows what will happen once we get to the planet. We need to stay on our toes, make sure we’re ready to face whatever this ‘Traveler’s Vault’ has to throw at us.”

     Gortys spun on her desk excitedly, glad to be activated again “Oh boy! I can’t _wait_ to get back home. I miss my ship.”

     “Do you know when exactly that's going to be? You said we were close, but how close exactly?” Rhys asked crouching down to be eye level with the mini robot.

     “ _Reaaaaalllly_ close,” Gortys assured him, “like within the next few _days_ or so, probably.”

     “Do you have anything you can tell us about what we can expect once we get there?” Fiona asked.

     “Noooo, sorry,” Gortys replied. mouth quirking. “I’m sure that I could tell you more once we get there! But for now I feel like something’s missing.”

     “What do you mean by that?” Fiona asked.

     “Something’s _missing._ As in, my memory banks. I feel like someone removed something, but I don't know what.” She chirped.

     “That's…kind of ominous,” Rhys mumbled.

     “Alright then. We’re almost there. Stay alert and stay on task. Dismissed.” Athena said with a snap.


	7. Chapter 7

     Two days later, Jack stopped him in the hallway, leaning close to whisper in his ear.

     “Meet me in the hanger after lunch. Be ready,” He grinned lecherously, groping at Rhys’s ass. It sent Rhys’s pulse racing with excitement.

     If Jack had been handsy before their tryst in the galley, now he was downright _shameless_. He brushed purposefully against Rhys as they worked together, whispering filth promises against his ear, telling Rhys all the things he was going to do to him. He’d held Rhys fully in his lap at their card games, nuzzling against him. If Nisha had walked in on them, then that meant Wilhelm knew for sure, and so there would be no point for him to try and hide it. Not that he cared what they thought in any case.

     The skiff hanger was nearly always empty, save when Jack would take it out with Rhys to gather fresh comet ice. The room was quiet when Rhys walked in, bathed in warm amber light. Jack had lined the room with candles, moving the middle bench out of the boat and instead filling the empty space with an assortment of pillows and blankets to form a makeshift bed. It looked…pretty romantic actually. It was more than what Rhys had been expecting.

     “What do you think kiddo?” Jack’s voice called from behind him. Rhys spun around to face him, nearly tripping over himself. He would never get used to the way Jack could so effortlessly sneak up behind him.

     “It looks amazing. Did you really do all this for me?”

     Jack rolled his eyes, stepping smoothly into Rhys’s space like he belonged there. Which, he supposed, he kind of did now. His fingers looped into Rhys’s belt loops, pulling him in for a slow and languid kiss that left Rhys breathless. He slapped at Rhys’s flank.

     “Come on now, shoes off. Get in the boat.” he said, already undoing his pants and pulling his shirt off.

     “Should I get undressed first, or?”

     “No.” Jack snapped. “No, just lay down. I want to savor this.”

     Rhys lay himself back into the nest of blankets, surprised at how comfortable it was. He shifted nervously, licking his lips as Jack crawled in after him. He looked at Rhys with a ravenous gaze, like he was something valuable, a worthy conquest.

     Rhys felt the tension in the room mounting. Already, his dick had started to twitch in interest, just from the slow way Jack, undid the straps of his arm, laying it aside carefully, the way he unbuttoned Rhys’s shirt. He kissed his way down Rhy’s chest with each button, pausing to swirl his tongue around one pink, pebbeling nipple. Rhys raised his hips helpfully as Jack pulled down his pants and underwear. Jack pressed a kiss to each of his jutting hip bones, nipping at the skin high on the inside of Rhy’s thighs. He peeled his socks of like he was unwrapping a very expensive piece of candy. His sharp teeth grazing the delicate skin of Rhys’s ankle.

     Everywhere his hands touched Rhys broke out in goosebumps. His breath was coming fast already, sweat starting to break out across his skin.

     “Flip over onto your tummy, won’t you sugar?” he said. Rhys complied readily, pillowing his face on his one remaining arm. His breath hitched as his rapidly filling cock brushed against the silky blankets. “Did you wash yourself like I asked you to?” Jack asked. He gave his ass a firm, deliberate squeeze, spreading his cheeks apart so he could look down at his puckered entrance. Rhys nodded, blushing red at the memory of Jack’s keen instructions. His breath caught in his throat as Jack’s thumb circled his rim, pressing in just slightly. “Good boy.”

     “Ah!” Rhys jolted forward with a shout as something wet touched at his hole, Jack’s tongue, he realized. Jack’s broad hands grabed at his hips, pulling him back insistently against Jack’s mouth. He licked big slow Saint Bernard licks against Rhys’s fluttering hole, flicking the tip every other few strokes so that it caught on him rim.

     Rhys was completely hard by now, face scrunched tight, panting against his arm. He could feel himself leaking precome. Jack bit at his cheek, before laving over that spot as well, kissing it as if in apology. His tongue wents back to working at Rhys’s hole, only this time it didn't just lick at the outside, Jack settled right over his entrance, position his tongue and pressing _in._

     It was an odd feeling, having something _enter_  that part of his body for the very first time instead of just existing. Rhys let out a high pitched whine, fidgeting. Jack pressed his face as far as he could, his tongue stretching to reach deep within Rhys’s walls to pull a wailing moan from him.

     “Ah, oh, god, _Jack_ ” he panted, hips struggling to move in Jack’s tight grip. He didn’t know whether to press in or out, unsure of the feeling. Jack humed against him, sending vibrations up into Rhys’s body that had him going cross-eyed. One hand moved to Rhys’s cock, starting to stroke him in time with Jack’s thrusting tongue.

     Too quick, Rhys felt himself drawing close to the edge. He babbled uselessly, trying to pull himself together. “Fu-uh, J-Jack! God, I can’t! I’m gunna!” Jack’s fist closed painful tight against the base of Rhys’s leaking dick, keeping his orgasm at bay as he pulled away with a final parting nip.

     “Easy babe,” he soothed. “Jack’s got ya.”

     Rhys swallowed hard, craning his head to look behind as he heard the familiar _pop_ of a bottle being uncorked. Jack held a small bottle of oil, which he used to coat his fingers. Rhys’s stomach gave a summersault as he noticed for the first time that Jack had clipped the claws from three fingers of his right hand in preparation. The excess oil dripped down onto his cleft, making Rhys jump.

     “Ok, baby” Jack’s voice called, gone rough from arousal. “I’m going to need you to relax for me.” Rhys faced forward again, face burning, and tried to obey his directions.

     Jack slipped the first finger in without warning, sending a jolt up Rhys’s spine as he clenched down around it.

     “ _Relax_ I said,” Jack hissed, pulling the finger back slightly to press back in again. He moved slowly, giving Rhys time to adjust. “I need you to work with me kitten.”

     “I’m _trying_ ,” Rhys whined out sucking at a sharp intake of breath as Jack pressed a second finger in alongside the first, scissoring them open. It didn’t hurt exactly, but it certainly felt strange, rim burning at the stretch. Jack’s body leaned over Rhys until he could feel his hot breath puff against the shell of his ear. Jack nibbled at the tip, fingers curling in a ‘come hither’ motion within his body.

     “Come on kitten, open up for me. Come _on._ ” Jack cooed. His fingers brushed up against something deep inside him that had Rhys seeing stars, back gone ramrod straight. “ _Thaaaat’s_ the ticket.”

     Jack’s fingers pistoned faster, the third finger slipping into Rhys’s body with less resistance this time. Each thrust angled toward the younger man’s prostate so it knocked rattling desperate moans free from his body with each instant press. Rhys’s skin felt electric where Jack touched him, it was like nothing he had ever felt before. Rhys felt as though his mind was slipping away from him, unable to grab ahold of anything solid past the fog of lust in his brain. The pleasure wracked through him, bringing tears to his eyes.

     “Fuck, Jack, Please!” He begged, not even sure what he was asking for. Jack, kissed at the space between his shoulder blades, his neck. His teeth closed over the center of the tattoo he had pressed into his skin, sucking another mark on top of it.

     “God, up, up.” Jack groaned, hauling Rhys onto his knees as he pulled his fingers free from his ass, leaving Rhys feeling strangely empty. He urged him forward so that Rhys was braced against the forwardmost bench, arm clinging tight to it for support. “Are you ready baby?” He asked, rubbing the head of his wet cock against his fluttering hole. Rhys nodded frantically.

     “Tell me who you belong to Rhysie.” he growled, sucking red marks against his shoulder. His tongue rasped against scar tissue, tasting the salt on his skin.

     “You.” He whimpered. He trembled as Jack rutted against him.

     “ _Who_ do you belong to?”

     “You, Jack!”

     “That’s right,” he growled out. “You're _mine_ kiddo. Don’t you forget that.”

     Jack’s hips jerked forward, cock pressing mercilessly into Rhys’s body, knocking the breath from his lungs.

     He felt, _huge_ , so much bigger than his fingers had been. Rhys felt like he was being split open by Jack’s cock. He whimpered, biting his lip against the stretch.

     “God you're tight,” Jack panted out against the back of his neck, hips stuttering. His nails pressed hard at Rhys’s hips. His teeth scraped his skin, panting open mouthed against his back. His body trembled against Rhys, pulled taut as a bow string with the effort to not just _wreck him._ “Feel so good baby, Christ! Should have done this _ages_ ago,”  his voice shook as he bottomed out.

     Rhys’s mouth fell open, chest heaving. He felt hot all over, sweat slicked skin slipping against the bench as Jack began to set a steady pace.

     He adjusted to the feeling sooner than expected, the burning stretch giving way to pleasure as Jack thrust _hard_ against his prostate over and over, sending sparks flitting across his vision. He shifted on his knees, rocking his body back to meet Jack’s thrusts. Jack moaned out, rewarding Rhys by wrapping his fist around his cock, pumping furiously in time to his thrusts. The slapping sound of skin on skin rang out loud and obscene as Jack began to lose his rhythm, thrusts coming faster and harder until he was slamming Rhys up against the bench with each thrust.

     Jack’s teeth closed around Rhys’s shoulder, breaking skin, and somehow that's what pushed him over the edge. He came with a shout, vision whiting out around the edges as Jack fucked him through his orgasm, hips giving a few more shuddering thrusts before he followed Rhys over the edge. Rhys went boneless over the bench, humming at the feeling of Jack’s come shooting deep within him. The older man gave a pinched groan, forehead resting between Rhys’s heaving shoulders.

     Rhys hummed dreamily, enjoying the comforting weight of Jack’s body slumped over him.

     The room was silent, save for their heavy breathing and the sound of the ship settling around them as the candles burned low. A dreamy smile floated across Rhys’s face.

     It was nice.


End file.
